Fanfare for June
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: The Hardys and their girlfriends go to New York City, to attend a concert – and suddenly find themselves embroiled in a search for a missing violin, a valuable Stradivarius which belongs to Phil Cohen's new girlfriend!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency website, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 1

A lone figure stood in the echoing upstairs hallway known familiarly as 'Senior Hall' of Bayport High School, gazing at his nearly-empty locker. Only one or two people passed by, hurrying to classes for which they were already late. But the tall boy studying the locker so intently didn't seem to care about the seconds ticking past; he was deep in thought.

Joe Hardy leaned against the bank of closed lockers and absently pushed back a lock of blonde hair. His blue eyes, usually so alert and twinkling, held an introspective light as he continued to stare at his locker.

 _Nine days. Graduation in nine days. Today's the last day of school for me,_ he mused. _And that's a miracle! I'd forgotten about that nice little custom of letting seniors with a B average or higher skip finals, until after spring vacation. Thank the Lord for Frank and Vanessa!_ He chuckled, recalling the late nights of cramming and intensive study his older brother had put him through for Advanced Calculus, and what seemed like endless drilling by his girlfriend. But he'd managed to pull that one class grade from a C to a B, in two months, thanks to a lot of hard work.

Joe glanced down the hall, as movement caught his eye, and smiled when he saw April Wayne open the door to a classroom and dart inside. April, being a sophomore, had a week of school yet. But as for him…. _Just three more classes today, clean out my locker, and go to graduation rehearsals!_ Joe inwardly exulted. _Although I can't imagine what Mrs. Martell was thinking, scheduling four rehearsals! I can see one or two, but…four? She's evidently gone obsessive-compulsive – oh well, even with all the rehearsals, it doesn't get much luckier than this! Nine days – nine days!_

Joe swiveled around and surveyed the long, quiet corridor, suddenly feeling a trifle nostalgic. Bayport High was a mixture of old and new. The original school had been built in the 1920s, and that structure formed the main core of the building. Brickwork on the outside, high ceilings and tall windows with Gothic arches, and dark linoleum prevailed there. In other parts of the school, however, glass and sparkling chrome and tile were the norm The building had been renovated, remodeled, and added to so many times in the intervening decades that it sometimes resembled a giant maze, with hallways and staircases leading in a multitude of directions. Modular 'mobile home' classrooms dotted the edges of the parking lots, and the burgeoning school had grown outward to reach nearly to the football and soccer fields, established more than a block away from the original school building.

 _I'm glad to leave…but I guess I'll miss it, too._ Joe smiled reflectively as he briefly recalled incidents and occurrences from the past four years. In his mind's eye, he could still see what had come to be known as 'The Senior Strut,' when he, Chet Morton, and Biff Hooper had proudly strode the length of senior hall the previous fall, shoulder-to-shoulder, clad in their jeans and letterman's jackets.

A rustle of someone's approach, a sudden whiff of familiar perfume and two arms snuggled about his waist caused his smile to widen into a grin. "Vanessa!" Joe turned in the embrace and found himself face-to-face with his tall, blonde girlfriend, Vanessa Bender. "Hey, babe!" Happy to find her so conveniently near, Joe leaned a few inches and kissed her warmly.

 _Vanessa…gorgeous, talented, witty Vanessa._ Vanessa, who now was _officially_ hisgirl, for she was wearing his class ring! As he kissed her, Joe's thoughts traveled back to the previous month, when he'd finally gathered up the courage to ask her if she'd be willing to wear it. _Now_ _that_ _caused quite a ruckus!_ he thought. And it had, at least in the Hardy household. Frank had never bothered to buy a class ring, let alone offer it to a girl, so this was a new situation to handle. And although their parents usually bent over backwards being fair-minded, there were a lot of conversations involving the words 'awfully young' and 'commitment' and 'are you sure?' for a few days. But Joe had remained firm in his decision. And Vanessa had seemed quite willing to accept the ring and to observe the time-honored custom of winding it with yarn so that it would fit snugly on her slender finger.

"You're late for class," Vanessa chided now, when their kiss ended.

"And you aren't?" Joe smiled into her blue-gray eyes.

"It's just a review, and since I don't have to take the final anyway….Penny for your thoughts? You looked like you were a thousand miles away!"

"I guess I was sort of saying goodbye," Joe admitted, somewhat self-consciously. "I know we'll be in and out between now and graduation, but…."

Vanessa turned her head and looked at their surroundings. "I don't have the history here you do," she observed, "but I still know what you mean." She gripped his arms and shook him gently. "Enough of the trip down Memory Lane, Joe! We're done! We have three classes, and then we're finished being high school kids! It's time to celebrate!"

"Par-ty, par-ty, par-ty?" he grinned. "Well, I know Chet's folks are planning a barbecue out at the farm for us next weekend, and Tony said he'd spring for pizzas for the whole crowd as a group present."

She leaned against him. "Aren't you glad Frank and I made you study so hard? Now you don't have to take finals!"

"Very glad, babe." Joe stroked her long, ash-blonde hair. "Having to take finals would definitely put a damper on the next nine days."

"Are you going to be ready to leave for New York right after school, for the concert?" Vanessa asked then.

Joe nodded. "I just have to grab these few things from my locker. I'm not all that excited about seeing a symphony concert – it'll probably be a total yawn – but it's cool that Phil's new girlfriend is playing in it. And seeing Phil again will be great."

"You're showing your lack of culture there, Hardy." Vanessa gave his nose a gentle tweak. "I didn't realize I was going with Conan the Barbarian!"

"I have plenty of culture!" he protested. "Loads of culture! I'm just not into symphonic music, that's all. I'm a rock 'n roll sort of guy – Van Halen. Aerosmith. R.E.M. Everclear. Something with a beat!"

"You might be surprised," Vanessa informed him archly. "This is a junior symphony, remember? Kids our ages. It won't be all Bach and Beethoven and Prokofiev, I'll bet."

Joe grinned. "Maybe you're right, but I just can't imagine rock music being played on a violin!" He pursed his lips and drew his face into the haughtiest, most high-hat expression he could manage.

Vanessa laughed. "Shows how much you know – you need to work on expanding your imagination, Joe. You can do all kinds of things with a violin, just like you can with a guitar, or a set of drums!"

"Well—" Joe linked the fingers of one hand with Vanessa's, and reached to brush back her hair with the other. "maybe you're right. I'm willing to be shown, anyway…" He leaned forward, closer to those oh-so-inviting lips….

The sound of a throat being cleared abruptly jarred them from their moment. Turning, flushed with guilt, they found themselves being observed by Mrs. Kinney, the tiny blonde P.E. teacher and girls' soccer coach.

"You two have classes yet today," she commented, smiling at them, "and I suggest you get to them. You aren't quite free of school yet! Now, shoo!"

"Yes, Mrs. Kinney," Vanessa wriggled out of Joe's grasp. "On my way!" She scuttled off down the hall without a backward glance.

Joe chuckled, retrieved his textbooks from his locker and shut the door. "Okay, Mrs. Kinney," he said politely, and headed for class.

##########

Frank Hardy parked his brand-new, shiny black Saturn across the street from the high school, dropped the windows, and shut off the engine. He unfastened his seat belt, and relaxed, turning to the girl in the passenger seat, his dark eyes filled with warm affection.

"We have a few minutes yet," he said in a soft baritone. He reached out a caressing hand and toyed with a tendril of golden-red hair. "Excited about going? I know I am!"

"Very much!" Megan Wright, whom Frank had begun to seriously consider his soul mate, smiled happily at him. Her long-lashed turquoise eyes sparkled with anticipation. "I'm sure the concert will be fabulous!"

"Yes—" Frank chuckled ruefully. "Well, I guess I'm more excited about seeing Phil than the concert, although that's certainly a bonus. I know you're looking forward to it. And since we're doubling with Joe and Vanessa, that makes it even better!" The brown eyes twinkled. "And I want to show off my new car to Phil, naturally!"

"You're sure you got everything?" Megan fretted, glancing towards the car trunk. "If you forgot something of Joe's, for instance, he'll be mad at you—"

"Joe packed his stuff himself; if he forgot anything, he can't blame me for it," Frank assured her.

"He hates dressing up, though," Megan continued to worry. "I could see him 'forgetting' to pack his shoes, or his tie, or something, out of sheer rebellion."

"You had to think of that, didn't you?" Frank shoved his hand through his dark hair. "Do you suppose we should check?"

"If he did, it's too late now to go back," Megan reminded him, with her usual practicality. "He'd just have to borrow from Phil, or something. Well, I'm fairly sure that neither Vanessa nor I forgot anything."

Frank snorted. "If you did, I can't imagine what. You'd think you were spending the weekend in New York, not coming right back to Bayport tonight. You girls' bags were twice as heavy as Joe's and mine!" He grinned. "I'm sure glad Phil offered to let us change at his place. I'd have hated to drive to New York in our dress clothes. This way we'll be comfortable."

"Are you familiar with where we're going to dinner before the concert?" she inquired, but Frank shook his head.

"No, Phil just said it was near where the symphony's playing, and one of his current favorites. I hope that doesn't mean a deli, or a pizza joint, or something!"

"Oh, come on, trust Phil." Megan reached to give his fingers a comforting squeeze. She had only met Phil Cohen once before, when he had returned to Bayport for Joe's 18th birthday celebration, but she had been impressed with the young man's close friendship with Frank, and his quiet, but obvious, intelligence. "He's not likely to do something like that."

"No, I suppose not," Frank admitted. "Oh—" he broke off, as an earsplitting buzzer sounded over the quiet street. "There's the ending bell, Joe and Vanessa should be here any time now."

Students began spilling from the doors, and judging from the ecstatic antics of most of them, the seniors were the first ones out. A few minutes later, Joe and Vanessa appeared, hand-in-hand, and hurried across the street to the car. Frank popped the trunk open, and they deposited their backpacks inside, then climbed into the back seat.

"Done! We're done!" Joe exulted. He hugged Vanessa exuberantly. "HALLELUJAH!" he bellowed.

Vanessa freed herself and rubbed at her ears. "Ouch! Next time you're going to yell like that, warn me!" She settled into her seat behind Frank, and reached for her seat belt.

Joe shoved his lower lip out in a mock pout. "You don't love me," he accused, then chuckled and wriggled in his own seat, trying to get comfortable.

"Joe, hang on." Megan reached for the controls, and scooted her seat forward a few inches. "There, is that better?" She turned around, as much as her safety belt allowed, to face the rear seats.

"Much – thanks!" Joe stretched his long legs out gratefully. Frank turned the key in the ignition, and the motor throbbed to life. Cautiously navigating around the streams of high school students in the street, he pulled out of his parking space. They were on their way to New York!

"I can't believe it, I really can't." Vanessa stretched, and smiled blissfully. "Done with school – high school, anyway. No more classes, just graduation rehearsals and then graduation, and then…freedom! Frank, this car is beautiful!" she added, running an admiring hand across the soft upholstery.

Frank cast an appreciative glance in the rearview mirror and nodded his agreement with Vanessa's assessment of his car.

Beside her, Joe mirrored Vanessa's contented smile. "Party on, we're gonna raise the roof….Hey, bro, if you felt like this last year, you sure didn't show it!" he added. Frank glanced quickly over his shoulder, meeting his brother's mischievous gaze.

"I was glad to be done, sure," he said. "I just didn't go around yelling about it." He turned his gaze back to the highway. "Did you feel the same way, Megan?" he directed his question to his girlfriend.

"Well…I suppose so." Megan's reply was subdued. She smiled, but there was a wistful quality to her expression. For just a second, her mind flashed back to her own graduation, a year before. She hadn't felt like partying then. Her graduation had been completely overshadowed by her father's death the previous month; there had been no celebrations for Megan, other than the bare minimum of the school ceremonies. She summoned a brighter smile. "Maybe graduating from Lakeridge Academy is different from graduating from Bayport. I mean, there's only about a quarter of the students there, for one thing."

Frank wasn't sure what had caused his girlfriend's momentary upset, but he hastened to shove the conversation into happier channels. "Personally, I'm finding it hard to believe you're actually graduating!" he teased Joe over his shoulder. "I was sure you'd never manage it, and you'd be the world's oldest senior – maybe you'd finally get your diploma when you were fifty, or so."

Joe punched Frank's arm lightly. "You goof," he said. "You know I'd graduate – my natural charm and intelligence and charisma would see to that! How could the administration turn me down?"

"You mean your natural egotism, don't you?" Megan murmured mildly, keeping her face resolutely turned towards the front to hide her dancing eyes. Joe huffed indignantly from the back seat, and Vanessa wickedly giggled at his discomfiture. Then she leaned over and kissed him soundly, and all was right with Joe Hardy's world once more.

"I wish Chet and Devon had been able to come with us," Vanessa remarked, when she was once more settled on her side of the car. "I'm sure Devon, especially, would have enjoyed the concert."

"We'd have been squished in here, with six," Joe demurred.

"Why was it they couldn't?" Megan inquired, turning around again.

"Chet's got finals to take," Joe informed her, "so he's supposed to be studying."

"And Devon had to work early tomorrow morning, she said," Vanessa added. "I do wish she could have been able to get away; seeing a junior symphony orchestra made up of the best young musicians in New York will be something else!"

"I was reading about them, yesterday." Megan nodded her agreement. "Want to hear what I learned?"

"We won't be tested on it, later, will we?" Joe asked plaintively. Frank choked with laughter at that, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Megan reached between the seats to whack Joe's arm in punishment for his impertinence.

"You will," she threatened, then continued with her discourse on the New York Junior Symphony. "It was founded to allow the best musicians from local high schools and colleges the opportunity to work in large ensembles together. That's something that might not be available to them otherwise, especially for the high school kids. There's an age limit – you have to be younger than 23, and at least 17, to be in it. So it's strictly for high school seniors and college students."

Joe was looking a little more interested now. "Did it say what kind of music they play?" he asked.

"Actually, it did," Megan replied. "Although they do play classical pieces – Bach, Tchaikovsky, Wagner, Beethoven, Copeland – you name a famous composer and they probably play him – they also do other things. Stuff from musicals, blues or jazz greats, even some march pieces, like John Philip Sousa. And for your information, Joe, they even do some rock and roll – classic rock like the Beatles, and newer things too. Remember," she continued, "it's a junior symphony. The article said that the pieces are chosen by a vote of the symphony members, not the conductor. These kids like popular music too. Apparently the only thing set in advance, when they choose the music for a concert, is the number of each type."

"Run that one by me again?" Frank requested, frowning slightly.

Megan smiled. "For instance, there might be two modern pieces, four from previous musical periods, two jazz or blues numbers, maybe one folk tune, or a number from a Broadway show…." she elaborated. "Those numbers aren't correct; that's just an example," she added.

Joe groaned, and held his hands to his temples. "My brain hurts now; no more musical history! I thought I was done with school!"

The others laughed, and Megan patted him consolingly. "Sorry, Joe, but I thought you'd like to be prepared."

Frank relaxed behind the wheel as he drove; they were ahead of the worst of the afternoon traffic, so he didn't feel he had to concentrate all his attention on the road and the surrounding vehicles. He could spare an occasional glance – or more than an occasional one.

Unusually daring, he divided his attention between the New York-bound traffic and the girl in his front passenger seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Megan tilt her head back against the headrest, and absently twist a lock of coppery hair about her forefinger as she gazed out the side window. _Wonder what she's thinking?….Anticipating the concert? Wishing Joe'd quit whining, for once? Thinking about – me, maybe?_ Frank bit back a grin, and focused on his driving for a bit, but after a few moments his attention wandered again.

 _She makes me happier than I've ever been with any one else. I'm so lucky to have found her. No, more than lucky –_ _blessed_ _to have found her! She's everything I could have ever wanted in a girl…._ As if feeling his eyes on her, Megan turned her head and smiled at him, that warm, inviting smile that lighted her beautiful eyes and caused her dimple to briefly appear. She pursed her lips and blew him a tiny kiss, then returned her gaze to the passing scenery.

The closer they got to the city, the thicker the traffic became, and Frank found he needed to concentrate fully on his driving. All four of them were familiar with New York City; Megan and Vanessa had both lived there, and the boys were in and out often. Aside from avoiding being cut off by some aggressive native New Yorker or plowed into by an alarmed tourist, Frank had no trouble reaching his destination.

Once in Manhattan, he easily located the restaurant Phil had recommended. They passed Symphony Hall first, and found the parking garage Phil had told Frank about, right around the corner from the restaurant. Once the Saturn was parked, the teens climbed out of the car, and Frank carefully locked it. Then they set out for the restaurant, anxious to see Phil, and meet his girlfriend.

As they sauntered casually along the crowded sidewalk, each couple hand-in-hand, Frank glanced about, noting his surroundings as a matter of long habit. Just as they were about to enter the restaurant, he noticed a casually dressed, burly man with long, thick light hair, standing across the street and glancing through the pages of a newspaper…or seeming to. As Frank watched, however, the man looked up and stared at the restaurant, and his eyes narrowed into slits. _Is he casing the joint?_ Frank wondered. _Or waiting for someone?_ He smiled to himself. _Maybe he really is just standing there and reading the paper. Or maybe he's an undercover cop…._

"Frank! Aren't you coming?" Megan's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see her gesturing imperatively from the open door. "Joe says if you don't get in here now, he's going to drag you in…"

"All right, I'll be right there." Frank quickened his steps and caught up with the other three. As they entered the restaurant, Frank didn't have a chance to glance back. If he had, he would have seen the man fold his newspaper under his arm, and start across the street….


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013 for their reviews!

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 2

Inside, they were greeted with appetizing aromas and the clink of tableware on plates. Despite the hour, there were already quite a few people enjoying an early dinner. This was evidently a popular place. Dark wood paneling hung with modernistic artwork created a warm, inviting atmosphere.

"It's very pretty in here," Megan commented softly to Frank, who nodded.

Joe halted by the reservations desk, intending to ask for Phil, but at the moment, there was no one there. So he moved further into the establishment, and scanned the dining area, hoping to catch sight of their friend.

"There they are," he murmured, pointing, and plunged into the room, swinging easily through the myriad of tables and waiters. Frank, Megan and Vanessa followed, a bit more slowly.

Phil was standing up when they reached the table, which was located in a corner, and supplied with a curved bench seat on one side. His thin face held a welcoming smile, and his brown eyes glowed with pleasure behind his wire-rimmed glasses. As tall as Joe, but much more lanky, Phil wore his sandy-brown hair on the longish side, and he now tossed it out of his eyes with an impatient gesture as he held out his hand to Joe.

"Man, it is so good to see you!" Phil seized Joe's outstretched hand and shook it enthusiastically, then clapped him on the back. "It's been forever!" Joe returned the handclasp with equal fervor, grinning broadly. Phil released him, and turned to hug Vanessa. "Van, stunning as ever, I see!"

Frank reached the table now, Megan holding onto his arm, and Phil repeated the procedure of the handshake and fervent back-slapping. He reiterated how great it was to see them all, and how long it seemed since they'd been together – since Joe's birthday party, the beginning of April!

"Frank, you look great; Megan, it's nice to see you again…I'm so glad you could make it tonight!"

 _He's sure excited!_ Joe thought, with amusement. He couldn't remember quiet Phil Cohen getting worked up like this very often. _Oh jeez, I hope he and Frank and Vanessa don't get into one of those techno-babble conversations like they used to! If they do, Megan and I'll have to put in earplugs and hope we don't die of boredom!_

"We're only an hour's drive apart, and yet we never see each other!" Phil lamented. "Why don't you come to New York more often, anyway?"

"Why don't you come back to Bayport more often?" Joe retorted. "Now, Cohen – finish the introductions!" He smiled meaningfully at the brown-haired girl seated at the table, and she smiled tentatively in return.

"Glad to!" Phil smiled. "Allison, these are my friends from Bayport – Frank Hardy, Joe Hardy, Vanessa Bender, and Megan…uh, Megan…uh - Wright. Sorry, I didn't remember your last name for a minute! Guys, please meet my girlfriend, Allison Lewis – the light of my life!"

Joe's smile grew broader when he heard Phil refer to Allison as his girlfriend. Phil hadn't gone out all that much, in high school, and it seemed sort of funny to think of him attached to someone. _Of course, he was dating someone else, earlier this year,_ Joe mused, as the others exchanged polite greetings. _What was her name…Karissa? Callista? Melissa? Wonder what happened with her?_ But as Joe watched Phil with Allison, he could tell that she evidently made Phil very happy indeed, and he dismissed Karissa/Melissa from his mind.

Allison nodded in a friendly fashion at the Bayporters, but it was quite obvious that she was feeling a little shy. She kept glancing at Phil tentatively, as if seeking encouragement. He smiled at her, with supreme confidence. He knew his friends would like her, and vice versa.

"Allison, Phil didn't specify, but Vanessa is Joe's girlfriend, and Megan is mine," Frank explained, as they all sat down. "Megan read up on the orchestra you play with, before we came." He smiled down at Megan. "She entertained us on the drive here, telling about it!"

Megan slid onto the padded seat beside Allison, smiling warmly at the other girl. Vanessa moved to sit on Phil's other side, so that by leaning across him, she could participate in the conversation. Frank and Joe seated themselves in the remaining chairs.

"Allison, Vanessa is just graduating from Bayport High, as Joe is, and I'm a freshman at Bayport Community College," Megan said. "I graduated from Lakeridge Academy here in New York last year. Where do you go?"

"I attend Julliard," Allison replied softly. "I'm just finishing my first year there, although I will be attending sessions this summer, too."

"Wow, Julliard?" Joe murmured admiringly. Even he had heard a lot about the prestigious music school, and he was impressed anew with Allison Lewis.

A waiter approached and distributed menus, then filled their water glasses, and departed, giving them a chance to decide on their orders. For a few minutes there was mostly silence at the table, broken occasionally by comments on the menu offerings, or questions for Phil or Allison on what they might recommend. At last the teens made their choices and laid aside the menus to await their waiter's return.

Frank noticed a worn violin case on the seat beside Allison. "What's that?" he asked, nodding at it. "I mean, is it something special, that you have it here at dinner with you?"

"Well, yes, sort of," Allison admitted, blushing a little. "It's my violin, but it's very old and rare. It was a gift from my grandparents. It originally belonged to my great-grandfather. He was a member of the Vienna Symphony for many years, before he immigrated to the United States. Since I'm either practicing, in ensemble rehearsals, or having lessons, I carry it with me most of the time. I don't trust the lockers at Julliard, and I don't want anything to happen to it – so I just keep it with me all the time."

"Wow, your great-grandfather played with the Vienna Symphony? That's marvelous!" Vanessa exclaimed. "No wonder it's so precious to you, Allison!"

"That's a lot of playing!" Joe commented, reviewing Allison's words. "Lessons, rehearsals, practice sessions…."

"She's the best violinist in the whole symphony orchestra!" Phil stated, his eyes glowing with pride.

Allison laughed and shook her head. "No – thanks, Phil, but really, I'm not the best. Technically, I guess I'm second-best. The absolute best is Angel Coussard." She pronounced the name _Awn-zhell Cu-sarrr_. "He's first chair in the violin section. I'm second chair. But I feel as if I could play for a thousand years and never be as good as Angel is! He's already received his invitation to join the Senior Symphony when they start their new season in the fall."

The waiter returned to take their dinner orders, interrupting the conversation.

"Are the politics always so strange in an orchestra?" Joe asked curiously, after the waiter had departed.

Allison laughed again, merrily. Her green eyes twinkled. "No. The seating is decided by skill, and nothing but skill, Joe. There are auditions held four times a year, and that's when your placement is determined. So it can change during a season, but it doesn't happen too often. And I couldn't unseat Angel anyway, even if I wanted to."

Over dinner, the conversation veered into talk of Bayport happenings, Joe's and Vanessa's upcoming graduation ceremonies, Frank's and Megan's freshman year ending, and summer job possibilities; but soon it reverted to Phil and Allison's New York experiences.

"How did this last term at NYU go?" Frank asked Phil. "You seemed pretty satisfied with things a couple months ago."

Phil nodded affirmatively, and smiled. "It went well. I think I aced all the final exams. I really enjoy it – computer science and tech is really what I like! And now that school is out, I'm working pretty much full-time at Computer Wizardry. My hours are odd, though – since it's open seven days a week, 9 to 9, and I work five of those days, they vary from day to day. But I like it there!"

"What sort of music are we going to hear tonight, Allison?" Vanessa asked, leaning across Phil's lap to make her inquiry. "Joe was afraid all you'd play is heavy classics!"

"Hey!" Joe waved his fork in protest. "Is this 'pick on Joe' night, or something?"

Allison smiled. "You wouldn't be the first to think that, Joe," she assured him. "Well, we're doing some classic, and some other things. Something by Beethoven which I think you'll recognize…Aaron Copeland's _Fanfare for the Common Man_ , and _Rodeo_. The _St. Louis Blues_. A couple of things from _Phantom of the Opera_. And some other things, just for fun." She chuckled at their reactions. "Yes, it's quite a conglomeration, isn't it?"

"Those sound great!" Joe exclaimed. Suddenly he felt much more enthusiastic about this upcoming concert. He dug into his entrée with gusto.

By the time they were halfway through dinner, there were two overlapping conversations going on at the table. The boys were discussing sports and computers, the girls were talking clothes. Frank listened with half an ear as Allison described the black dresses which the girls in the symphony orchestra were required to wear for concerts.

"Do they try to find something that flatters everyone?" Megan asked. "I mean, look at Vanessa and me. We can't wear the same sorts of clothes at all. But your dresses have to be alike, right?"

"Yes, but they're very basic," Allison explained. "Scoop necks, elbow-length sleeves, a skirt you can sit down in and wear while playing the cello—" She broke off, laughing. "And the sleeves have to be loose enough so that we can bow comfortably!" she added. "They do try to pick something that looks okay on a variety of differently-shaped people."

Frank was looking over the restaurant between bites. To his surprise, he saw a man sitting across the room who looked very familiar. _That's the same guy I saw standing outside!_ he thought. He looked more sharply at the stranger, trying to determine if it was, indeed, the same person, but the man's face was half-hidden behind his large menu. _He's obviously alone – who was he waiting for, out there? Or what? Or who was he watching?_ _Maybe he_ _is_ _an undercover cop – or a private detective. If he is, he's not very good at what he does!_ Frank kept a covert eye on the man as he ate, and noticed he seemed to be watching their table with more than casual interest.

Allison checked her watch. "I'm terribly sorry, but I really do have to go," she said regretfully. "I have to get back to my dorm room and change for the concert, and if I don't leave now, I'll never make it. But I hope I'll see you afterwards. Could we meet for dessert, perhaps?"

The four teens from Bayport exchanged questioning glances and hopeful nods. "We'd like that," Frank answered for them all. "We'd intended to go back right afterwards, but we'll stay later, and meet you after the concert."

The boys rose courteously when Allison stood up. Frank and Joe sat back down, but Phil remained on his feet, evidently intending to walk to the door with his girlfriend. She picked up her violin case, and leaned to kiss Phil quickly.

"Just stay here, Phil; I've got to dash! See you all later! Enjoy the concert!" With a bright smile for them all, Allison hurried to the door and was gone.

"Phil, she's just darling!" Vanessa told the young man as he resumed his seat. "I like her so much!"

As Joe and Megan added their praises of Allison to Vanessa's comments, Frank let his eyes rove again to where the mysterious stranger had been sitting. To his shock, he saw that the chair was empty!

"Excuse me just a minute," he murmured, and stood up. He made his way to the front door of the restaurant, hoping to catch a glimpse of the strange man. Just as he reached it, he caught sight of the man he had been seeking – and saw him reach out, snatch the violin case from an unsuspecting Allison Lewis's hand, and take off running!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you so much to the kind persons who have commented on the story: Cherylann, Laurie, Max2013, and anyone else who has read and enjoyed.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 3

"HEY!" Frank instinctively sprang into action, leaping after the thief, but he was several feet away, and the man was moving rapidly. Frank brushed by Allison Lewis, barely noticing her, for his attention was fixed on his quarry _. Oh no, you're not getting away with this!_ Frank thought, and set out in pursuit down the sidewalk. The guy didn't seem to be able to run all that fast, he noted with satisfaction. _I can catch him, no problem!_

The man rounded a corner, and Frank put on a burst of speed, realizing that if he wasn't to lose track of his prey, he needed to keep him in sight! He dodged an elderly couple walking along ahead of him, nearly knocking down the man in his hurry, and gabbled out a hasty apology as he shot by. "Sorry – got to catch that guy!" he gasped, and darted around the corner, only to find himself entangled with more pedestrians. This lovely, warm summer's evening was evidently a very popular time for tourists and native New Yorkers alike to be out, sauntering along and enjoying the atmosphere. At any other time, Frank might have enjoyed it too – but not now! "Excuse me – pardon me, sorry," he gasped, over and over, cutting in and out as he raced down the sidewalk.

He spotted the man, and risked a yell: "Hey, you – give that violin back!" but the man never even slowed. If anything, he increased his speed. He was running in a frenzy, legs pumping madly, and his unencumbered arm flailing, but he had no rhythm to his stride, or fluidity of motion, and Frank could see he was closing the gap between them. "Give it back!" Frank bellowed again, heedless of the startled glances he was receiving from passers-by.

The sudden appearance of an unattended skateboard nearly caused a disaster. Frank saw it barely in time to avoid it, and was forced to make an awkward leap. He stumbled, caught himself, and resumed the chase, swearing beneath his breath at people who left their things lying around on sidewalks. Up ahead, he saw his quarry stagger, and look back apprehensively.

 _He's tiring_! Frank thought exultantly _. I'll have him in a minute._ He sped up, brushing past a group of teenage girls who had halted on the sidewalk to stare at the man with the violin case, and then at Frank himself. But although the guy ran so poorly, he wasn't giving up. To the elder Hardy boy's chagrin, he saw the man suddenly dart across the street, maneuvering through the slow-moving traffic, and then leap upwards, taking advantage of a lowered fire escape ladder on the other side of the street.

 _Oh no, not rooftops!_ Frank groaned mentally, as he charged into the street in pursuit. Tires squealed and horns blared, and he was forced to stop, and dodge vehicles, whose drivers universally scowled and yelled imprecations at him. Still, Frank kept on. He made it across the avenue, and neared the ladder.

He was ready to continue the pursuit wherever necessary, but the thought of scrambling around on fire escapes or roofs was unnerving. The thief was scurrying up the iron steps, still clutching the violin case in one hand, but as he gained a third story, his foot suddenly slipped. Instinctively, he grabbed for the ladder with both hands, and the violin case dropped from his grasp.

Frank, arriving beneath him at just that moment, made a frantic grab, and snagged the violin case out of the air, saving it from smashing to the concrete. Above him, the defrauded thief kept ascending the ladder, then scrambled onto the roof and continued his getaway.

 _Damn!_ Frank sagged against the ladder, frustration evident on his features. Although he wanted to apprehend the guy who had stolen Allison's violin, he realized that his pursuit had been successful in part. At least he had regained possession of the precious instrument! And Allison would be waiting, and worried…. Slowly, Frank turned around, and began to retrace his steps to the restaurant. He held the violin case tightly against him with both arms, taking no chances on its being snatched from him again.

 _At least I can memorize what I saw of him,_ he thought, as he trudged along. _Red sweatshirt – looked like it had some sort of school logo on the front, but I never saw what logo it was. Big guy – burly build. Blondish hair, long – ponytail under a baseball cap. What sort of baseball cap? Yankees' colors, but that's not surprising; this is New York, after all. Blue jeans. Can't run worth a darn…._

Frank broke into a half-jog, for he knew Allison would be frantic over her lost instrument. He rounded the last corner, and saw her, standing on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Her face was a mask of worry, and it looked as if tears were close. Phil stood beside her, his arm wrapped protectively about her shoulders. They were both scanning the crowds intently, obviously watching for Frank's return.

He strode up to them and held out the violin case to Allison. Her eyes lighted up, and she seized it with both hands.

"Frank! Thank you! Oh, thank you, oh, how did you do it; this is absolutely wonderful!" she gushed, and let go of the violin with one hand, to hug Frank tightly. "Oh, you don't know how much I appreciate this; Phil said you could do it, but—" She hugged him again, and then backed away. The smile on her face faded, and she suddenly looked extremely angry. The pretty green eyes flashed fire. "I am going to kill Rodney for this!" she snapped.

"Huh? Who's Rodney?" Frank blinked in surprise.

"I'll tell you when I get back," Phil promised him, taking Allison's arm possessively. "I'm going to walk Alli to her dorm, make sure she gets there okay. Then I'll be right back. But I'm not going to let her go alone if Rodney or his goons are lurking around." He tugged on his girlfriend. "Come on, Alli, we need to go." They hurried off, and Frank, bemused, re-entered the restaurant. He returned to their table, where he found an avidly curious Joe, Vanessa, and Megan waiting for him.

"For heaven's sake, what happened?" Megan demanded, as Frank sat down. "First you leave, then Phil dashes out – and then he came back and said someone stole Allison's violin! He told us to wait here…much to Joe's dismay!" she added, with a teasing look at the younger Hardy brother.

"Some freakazoid who'd followed us in here snatched it right out of her hands," Frank confirmed. "So I chased him, to get it back."

"And did you?" Joe queried. "Did you catch the guy?"

"Yes…and no," Frank replied. "He had a head start, but he wasn't much of a runner – which was lucky. I might never have nabbed him, otherwise. I was just about to get him when he ran across the street and climbed up a fire escape ladder. But he dropped the violin on his way up, and he just left it. I decided it was more important to get Allison's instrument back to her than to hunt him down."

Joe grinned. "You getting too old for these high-speed foot chases?" he jeered, "You're pushing 20, remember? Maybe you'd better start leaving it to us younger guys, who are in better shape!"

Frank gave him a disdainful look. "Too old nothing!" he protested. "He just had some lucky breaks – for instance, I almost tripped over a skateboard—"

"Not only getting old, but clumsy as well," Joe crowed, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"Joe…" Megan's tone held a veiled warning. She was very fond of Joe, but enough was enough. "You weren't there. You don't know what happened. And Frank got back the violin, which is what was the most important thing."

Joe heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Whatever you say, Red," he muttered, his eyes twinkling – and then he stopped, amazed to see sparks of fury flying from Megan's azure eyes.

"Don't you call me that!" Megan snapped, with unaccustomed heat. "I hate that nickname!"

"Huh?" Joe gaped at her, bewildered. Megan was always so gentle, and usually easy to tease and joke with. What had caused this abrupt transformation?

"Why?" Frank, too, was startled by his girlfriend's reaction to Joe's gibe. He reached for her hand, and squeezed it soothingly. "There's nothing wrong with it, honey – Joe didn't mean anything by it." He shot a warning look at Joe, who was regarding Megan with honest confusion. "What's so bad about being called 'Red'?"

For a moment there was tense silence. "When I was little, my hair was a lot redder," Megan admitted reluctantly. "There was this bratty little boy in third grade, who alternated between calling me 'Red' and 'Fire Truck,' all year long." Her eyebrows drew together in a scowl, an unusual expression for her. "I hated it then, and I hate it now." She glared at Joe.

"Okay, okay—" Chagrined, Joe made a conciliatory shushing gesture. "I'm sorry. But it just came out – it seems like such a natural thing to call you…"

"Well, don't!" Megan still sounded miffed, but her anger was subsiding.

Joe hastily sought to change the subject. "Did Allison say anything about why someone would have stolen her violin?" he asked Frank.

"She said something about someone named Rodney," Frank said. "Phil said he'd explain when he got back. He's walking her to her dorm."

About ten minutes later, Phil returned, flushed from his brisk walk in the June warmth. Instead of sitting down, however, he hovered impatiently beside the table. "We'd better go over to my place so you all can change for the concert," he suggested. "We can take my car."

Settling the bill took a few minutes, but soon the teens were back in the parking garage, where they retrieved their clothes from Frank's car. Phil was voluble in his admiration for the sleek black Saturn, and Frank beamed with pride in his new acquisition. Still, he was just as happy to ride in Phil's car for this short trip, and leave his car safely parked. They ascended the stairs to the level where Phil's car was parked, and climbed in.

Phil's car ostensibly seated five – _but_ _those five must have been Munchkins!_ Frank thought with dismay, as they attempted to wedge into the vehicle. Joe, being the largest, was granted the privilege of the front passenger seat, while Vanessa, Frank and Megan got the back. Megan was put in the middle of the seat, with Frank on one side and Vanessa on the other, and the little redhead was nearly squashed between them. She would have disregarded the middle seat belt and simply sat on Frank's lap, but he shook his head sternly at this suggestion.

"No way, Baby! You know New York traffic's no place to go without a safety belt – sorry, but you'll just have to put up with being squished for a little while!"

Grumbling, Megan complied. Phil started the motor, and they began their descent through the spiral ramps of the parking structure. As he drove, Phil began explaining about Rodney.

"Rodney is Allison's cousin. He's older than she is – he's the oldest grandchild of her grandfather. He's been trying for a year now, to claim that valuable violin as his own." Phil stopped speaking for a moment as he pulled out of the garage into traffic. He accelerated abruptly, and cut across two lanes of traffic. In the back, Vanessa covered her eyes with both hands, and Megan gasped and shrank against Frank. Cringing, the elder Hardy wrapped a protective arm about his girlfriend. Joe braced his hand against the dashboard, but Phil seemed oblivious of his passengers' alarm. He stamped on the brake as a traffic light turned red, bringing his car to a shuddering halt, and went on with his explanation.

"Allison was given the violin a year ago, and Rodney's been after it ever since. He claims that since he's the oldest grandchild, it should rightfully go to him."

"Is that true?" Frank asked. He winced as the light changed, and Phil depressed the gas pedal and started across the intersection, disregarding the fact that there was no room for him in the next block. _Phil didn't used to drive like this back in Bayport! I think he's become too much a New Yorker!_

"Nah!" Phil scoffed, shaking his head. "Alli's great-grandfather set down the stipulations for the disposition of that violin. He's the one who played in the Vienna Symphony, and his will states that it is to be passed to the child in each generation with the talent and drive to succeed. There wasn't anyone who fit that description, in Alli's parents' generation, but Allison's been playing since she was four years old and able to hold a violin. Her grandparents made the decision that she should have it."

"Four! Wow!" Joe whistled in approbation, then abruptly cut the sound off with a sharp intake of breath as Phil changed lanes, barely avoiding a collision with a taxicab. The cab driver leaned on his horn, but Phil ignored the blast of sound. "Is there something special about the violin, other than that it's old, and has sentimental value?" Joe continued after he regained his composure.

"It's a very valuable Stradivarius," Phil told them. "Priceless in both monetary terms, and the fact that great violinists have owned and played it – Alli being the latest. Rodney doesn't want it for those reasons, though. He just wants to sell it."

"Sell it!" Megan cried out in protest. "That's awful!"

"Yeah." Phil glanced into the rearview mirror and met her eyes briefly. "Naturally, Alli's great-grandfather didn't have that in mind. Rodney's gone to court twice now, trying to get possession of it, but he doesn't have a legal claim. It legitimately belonged to her grandfather, and he signed ownership over to her just before she started at Julliard."

Phil flipped his turn signal on, then swung into another parking garage, this one a three-story brick structure. "This is the closest to my apartment," he commented. "We'll still have to walk a couple of blocks, though." All of his passengers breathed silent sighs of relief. It felt much _safer_ in here, out of traffic, and Phil was forced to drive slowly up the ramps.

After getting their dress clothes from the trunk, the teens walked through an average Manhattan residential neighborhood for three blocks to reach Phil's apartment building. It was a ten-story building, looking positively tiny in comparison to the massive New York skyscrapers. The lobby appeared clean, but was dark and shabby-looking; the elevator Phil led them to was rickety, and made groaning noises as it struggled upwards. The Bayport visitors exchanged nervous glances, but Phil blithely disregarded the ominous sounds. Apparently he was used to the elevator's vagaries, and not alarmed by them.

When they arrived safely at the fourth floor Phil led his friends to his apartment, and unlocked the door. "It's not big, but it's home. My aunt and uncle were great, when I was staying with them last fall, but I always felt like they were watching me, and reporting everything back to my parents. I wanted a little more freedom, and I sure have that now!" He ushered them inside. "I have a roommate, Matt; he's at work now. So we'll have the place to ourselves." He looked around, beaming with pride. "Not big, but it's what I can afford right now."

It _was_ small. The rooms were all miniscule in size – the kitchen was small, the living room was small, the bathroom was tiny, and the two bedrooms were definitely on the smallish side. But it was tidy; evidently Phil and Matt were both fairly meticulous in their habits, and this made it seem more spacious than it actually was.

"Vanessa, you and Megan can use my bedroom to change," Phil told them, indicating the room. "Guys, you can change in Matt's room."

"What about you?" Frank inquired.

"I've got my stuff in the bathroom," Phil assured him. "Girls, if you need to redo your makeup or something, I'll make it fast so you can use the bathroom."

When they reassembled in the living room, admiring looks and approving comments and whistles were abundant. Vanessa was striking in a flowing calf-length, flower-print skirt and scarlet blouse, with stiletto heels that made her taller than Joe. She was wearing her hair piled high on her head, and she looked both elegant and exotic. Megan was dressed in a deep green velvet skirt that fell to her ankles, with a silky lighter green top. High heels raised her stature an inch or two, but she still looked tiny in comparison to the others. Her silken curls tumbled in an auburn riot; her turquoise eyes were sparkling with anticipation, and Frank's eyes glowed when he looked at her.

"Oh, don't you two look nice!" Vanessa exclaimed, taking in the Hardys' appearance with approval.

Joe, clad in a dark blue suit, with a light blue shirt, blushed at his girlfriend's praise, and tugged at his navy-and-red striped tie. "This thing's going to choke me to death," he muttered, but he didn't sound very grumpy. He smiled at Vanessa. "We'll be the best-looking couple there," he promised her.

Frank was wearing a charcoal-gray suit, and his shirt was light gray. His tie was dark red with silver accents, and he looked, as Megan put it, 'absolutely fabulous, dah-ling!'

"No more fabulous than you," he replied, chuckling.

Phil was seated on the couch, thumbing through a textbook, his feet propped on the coffee table as he waited for his guests. When he rose to his feet, the Bayporters saw with surprise that Phil looked completely different from the usual lanky, uncoordinated guy they were used to seeing. He was dressed in a dark brown suit and a cream-colored shirt, his tie a gold-and-brown Paisley print, his hair neatly brushed back and slicked down instead of shooting out in various directions as it usually did.

"Phil, you look wonderful!" Vanessa exclaimed, and he blushed and grinned self-consciously.

"Thanks – and your timing's great; we need to fly!"

Phil headed for the door, and opened it, preparing to head for the car. Before he could take another step, however, a drawn-back fist slammed directly into his stomach!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the feedback!

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 4

"Oooof!" Phil staggered backwards with a grunt of pain, and landed on the floor, but almost immediately he rolled and scrambled to his feet again. Frank and Joe, meanwhile, had leapt forward and seized Phil's assailant. They dragged him into the apartment; Joe kicked the door shut, and the Hardys flung the man against the wall, pinning him in place.

Their prisoner was a man of medium height, who looked to be in his early twenties, with dark, curly hair and blue eyes. He struggled, snarling imprecations and threats in strongly accented English, but Frank and Joe were both taller than he, and considerably stronger. They held him securely.

"Just settle down!" Frank snapped, tightening his grip on the man's wrist. He glanced over his shoulder at Phil, who had gingerly straightened up. Both Vanessa and Megan moved to hover solicitously over their friend. "You okay, Phil?"

"Y-yeah." Phil adjusted his tie, and smoothed his shirtfront, grimacing as he touched his stomach. He rubbed it a moment, then pulled in a deep breath. "I'm fine." He approached the intruder, a scornful expression crossing his face. "Robert…." He pronounced it ' _Ro-bair_.' "What are you up to now? Why are you here?"

The man addressed as Robert glared fiercely at Phil. "I came to warn you once again, Cohen – stay away from Allison Lewis! She is my girlfriend, and she always will be!" he spat.

Phil surveyed him calmly. "That's funny – because Allison's been my girlfriend for four months now. She doesn't want anything more to do with you, Robert. Why can't you just get that through your head, and move on?" To Frank and Joe, Phil added: "It's okay, guys, you can let go of him. He's not any threat." Reluctantly, the Hardys eased their grips on Robert, and stepped back a few paces, but they remained tense and on guard.

Released, Robert rubbed his wrists and stared defiantly at Phil and his friends. "Allison is just confused," he stated vehemently. "You've confused her. She loves me! She is mine!"

"Robert, you're sounding suspiciously possessive," Phil said mildly. "If you don't watch out, I'll have to report you again."

Clear blue eyes flashed angrily. "She is mine!" Robert repeated stubbornly. "She is not yours, Cohen!"

"Get out," Phil gestured towards the door with his chin. "We have an important concert to attend, and you're delaying us."

Robert snarled in wordless frustration, but he was obviously no match for Phil and the Hardys. He staggered out the door, slamming it violently behind him.

"Wow!" Joe stared at their friend. "You have interesting guests dropping in, Phil!"

Phil smiled wryly, and rubbed his stomach again. "Yeah…" Now that Robert had departed, he allowed himself to relax, and winced a little.

"Phil, are you sure you're all right?" Megan put a hand on his arm. "Maybe you should sit down for a minute."

"Thanks, but I'm fine." Phil smiled down at her. "Robert can't hit worth a damn – I've had run-ins with him before. It probably hurt his hand more than it hurt me." He gestured towards the door. "Let's get going, huh?"

As they walked back to the parking garage, Phil launched into an explanation of Robert's bizarre behavior.

"Allison met Robert DuChais at a symposium in Paris a couple of years ago. He can be very gallant and persuasive, and she was pretty impressionable. He turned her head with that Gallic charm, I guess, and of course she was flattered to be sought after by this older guy. After she returned to the U.S., Robert arrived in New York a month later. They dated during her last year in high school, but then Alli found out what kind of guy Robert really is – possessive and manipulative. She didn't want to have anything more to do with him, and called it off about the time she started at Julliard. But Robert doesn't seem to want to take 'no' for an answer, and he keeps hanging around. As I said, I've had run-ins with him before"

Squashed into Phil's car once again, the Hardys, Vanessa and Megan endured his haphazard driving to their destination. Megan simply closed her eyes, gripped Frank's arm, and prayed; Vanessa reached across her friend's lap and clutched Frank's hand, tightening her fingers convulsively a few times when they narrowly escaped vehicular disaster, but remaining silent. In the front, Joe kept up a rapid-fire conversation with Phil, trying to distract himself from what felt like impending doom. But they arrived safely back at the parking garage, and Phil found a space close to Frank's Saturn.

The teens transferred their casual clothes back to Frank's car, and then set out for the short walk to the concert hall. As they walked, Frank took in their surroundings. The area was solidly built up, with tall structures blocking out any view but 'up.' As they neared the concert hall, he could see a block-long crush of curb-to-curb taxis, all dropping people off at the concert.

"I didn't realize this was such a big deal," he commented to Phil, indicating the throng of concertgoers.

Phil nodded, and grinned. "It's their final concert of the year, and this one in the spring is always the best. At least, that's what Alli says."

Once inside the hall, the group from Bayport were handed programs, then found their seats and edged into them. Frank sat furthest in, with Megan on his right; next came Joe, then Vanessa, and Phil took the aisle seat. They could see the orchestra onstage, already doing their warm-ups. Musicians ran through finger exercises and did breathing routines. Ripples of sound and snatches of various melodies filled the hall, all mingling in what seemed to be complete cacophony.

"How can they concentrate on what they're doing, in all that noise?" Vanessa marveled, whispering in Joe's ear.

"Used to it, I guess," he muttered softly in reply.

The orchestra members were dressed formally; the girls in the black dresses Allison had described; the men in black tuxedos, with white shirts and red cummerbunds. There was an enormous flower arrangement on the floor in front of the stage, and this, and the red accents of the men's formal attire, were the only colors onstage – everything else was stark black and white.

"There's Alli – see?" Phil leaned across Vanessa to point towards the stage. The group could see Allison, in the front row of the violin section, conversing with the tall, skinny youth seated next to her. They seemed to be working on something together, playing bits of music over and over, and discussing it avidly. "That's Angel Coussard, the guy Alli was talking about at the restaurant. The first-chair violin; he's really a phenomenal musician."

Angel and Allison stopped playing, and smiled at each other in evident satisfaction. Angel held out his violin, apparently showing Allison a set of fingerings, and she nodded, and tried it on her own instrument. Her smile widened appreciatively.

"He's good," Phil admitted, a trifle unwillingly. "He's cocky and sure of himself, but I suppose it's warranted. He is very, very accomplished."

"It's just that you wish he wasn't quite so aware of it!" Joe quipped.

Eventually, the lights dimmed in the hall, and the orchestra members and audience quieted. Watching the musicians intently, Megan noticed that there was no shuffling of music on the stands; it was evidently already in order.

"Look," she murmured, "All their music is clipped into those black binders. No loose pages."

Phil heard her comment, and leaned to respond. "It's done that way so that the musicians can turn the pages easily – and nothing gets out of place," he whispered.

The conductor, a somewhat portly individual resplendent in white tie and tails, strode up to his podium, to the applause of the audience. He glanced at his musicians, then tapped the podium with his baton – and then raised both hands.

Suddenly, the thunderous, repetitive notes of Beethoven's _Fifth Symphony_ filled the concert hall. Smiling in pleased recognition, Frank leaned back in his seat and squeezed Megan's fingers. Glancing to the side, he noticed Joe pick up Vanessa's hand and bring it to his lips for a swift kiss, before he settled down to listen.

 _This orchestra is good – very, very good!_ Joe couldn't help smiling as he listened appreciatively to the strains of music. _They're about a thousand times better than any of the orchestras or bands I've heard back in Bayport!_ He watched Allison as she played, and saw that she smiled nearly all the time, evidently enjoying what she was doing. But there was fixed attention, too. She didn't lose herself in the music, she was concentrating fully – but it was clear that she loved it.

The program was varied and pleasant, mixing various sorts of music, just as Megan and Allison had described. Joe didn't have to pretend to be interested, he liked all of it – some more than others, but all of it was enjoyable. Megan, Vanessa and Frank all appeared to like it too, and as for Phil…Phil was mesmerized, his gaze fixed on Allison the whole time.

After four pieces, there came a short intermission. The lights came up, and people stood and stretched, or walked out to the corridors to get drinks of water, or visit the restrooms. Joe and Frank and Phil all stood, glad to stretch their long legs, but none of the group left the area of their seats. Vanessa and Megan leaned to compare notes, happily discussing what they had seen and heard.

"Told you you'd like it," Phil said, with satisfaction.

"It's better than I'd anticipated," Joe admitted, grinning. "If I could hear these guys play all the time, I might even learn to enjoy classical music!"

"Now there's something you should get recorded and notarized," Megan teased. "It's not likely we'll ever hear Joe say anything like that again." Frank and Phil snorted with laughter, and Vanessa giggled, then hugged her boyfriend comfortingly.

"Never mind, Joe, I love you even if you are a barbarian," she whispered. "In fact, there are some barbaric aspects of you that I'm quite fond of…." She winked, and Joe blushed crimson.

After the intermission, the orchestra played a couple of blues numbers, and then an arrangement of _Rock This Town_ featuring the brass sections, which had the listeners swaying in their seats and snapping their fingers, even though the eventual addition of the strings did sound just a little odd. Delighted smiles lighted faces throughout the concert hall.

Then came the finale – a quiet, tender piece spotlighting the two main violinists, Angel and Allison. The program notes explained the meaning of the piece, but it was almost self-explanatory – the parting of lovers. Listening intently, Frank felt Megan's fingers tighten on his, and he glanced over to see tears sliding down her cheeks.

"Don't cry, Baby; I'm not going anywhere," he breathed, and squeezed her hand. Leaning forward just a little, he saw that Vanessa's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and he heard her sniffle audibly. Joe looked like he was swallowing a lump in his throat.

Onstage, Allison and Angel were caught up in their performance. The mournful melody Allison played at the end of the piece indicated her versatility with her instrument – and her expression, eyes closed in rapt concentration, showed how well she knew the music she played. The conductor might as well have not even been there, for all the attention she or Angel paid to him. They were somewhere else, in a world dominated by their instruments and the interwoven melodies they made.

When the last notes died away into silence, the members of the audience stood as one, clapping and cheering the performance. Joe, applauding vociferously, let loose a few strident whistles, but he wasn't the only one. Megan and Vanessa, both with cheeks tear-streaked, clapped until their hands ached. Frank exchanged glances with Phil as they stood and cheered; he'd never seen Phil Cohen look so proud as he did at moment. When the performers took their bows, the loudest applause came for Angel and Allison, who smiled in happy triumph.

Finally the applause petered out, the lights came up, and the audience began to move from their seats. The orchestra members picked up their instruments and moved offstage, into the wings. Phil gathered his friends close, so that they could hear him in the midst of the chatter and noise.

"We're going to meet Alli up front," he told them. "It will probably take about half an hour before she's ready to go; they usually have a quick discussion of the performance with the conductor. So we may as well just sit down again and wait for the crowd to clear."

They settled back into their seats, eagerly discussing the concert. Megan and Vanessa agreed that the final piece was their favorite of the evening; Joe, predictably, liked _Rock This Town_ the best, and Frank voted for _St. Louis Blues_. Phil said he couldn't decide between _Rock This Town_ and Copeland's _Rodeo_.

A few minutes later, however, Phil jerked to his feet, glaring across the hall. "Rodney!" he muttered. "That guy is persistent – and more trouble than he's worth! He'd better not try to get Alli's violin again – not now, when we know he's here." He indicated Allison's cousin to the others.

Frank looked – and then stared in surprise. He had expected Rodney to be the man he had chased through the streets in pursuit of the violin, although he realized, after a second's thought, that Allison would have recognized him in the restaurant, or when the instrument had been taken, had that been the case. _So who was that other guy?_ he wondered. He could see that Rodney, who looked to be somewhere in his mid-twenties, was dressed just as he and Joe and Phil were – in a regular suit and tie, with his hair – a nondescript shade that Aunt Gertrude termed 'hair-colored' – brushed back smoothly. Frank couldn't make out an eye color at this distance. _Rodney looks pretty much like all the other concert patrons here!_ Frank thought. He tried to keep an eye on him, but after a few minutes, Rodney moved into the crowd, and Frank lost track of him.

Joe, too, had been watching him. "Lost him!" the younger Hardy murmured, sitting down in disgust.

Time passed. Forty-five minutes later, they were nearly the only ones left in the auditorium, and Allison still had not shown up.

"What could be keeping her, Phil?" Vanessa asked, with some concern. "She isn't usually this late, is she?"

Phil shook his head. "No, but perhaps the conductor is keeping them for some reason. He usually lets them go quickly, because they have things to do in the morning, but he could be going over something or other that he felt couldn't wait until tomorrow, I suppose."

"I can't imagine what he could find to criticize in that concert!" Megan said.

Phil grinned. "You'd be surprised what he hears that the rest of us don't notice!" he replied. Then he sobered. "Maybe I'll go backstage and see if I can find Allison," he said, but at that moment they noticed Angel Coussard come onstage, look around, and then hurry down the side steps towards them.

As he approached, the group could see that he was still attired in his tuxedo, although he had pulled off the cummerbund, and his tie was askew. "Phil," Angel said, in a marked French accent, "Allison sent me to find you. We have had a tragedy backstage. Someone has taken her violin, and she is most distraught. Will you come?"


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. No Twitter or Facebook. People still used landlines! Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 5

 _I knew something was going to happen!_ Despite the sobering news about Allison's violin, Joe was nearly exultant inside. _Things always happen around us, and I had a premonition_. He didn't say anything aloud, knowing that Frank would scoff, and it would further upset Phil, but inwardly, Joe was relishing the chance to solve a mystery. _And this one's open-and-shut! We know who's responsible, and we saw him here earlier – that Rodney guy! After all, he disappeared into the crowd…._

They followed Angel backstage, Phil striding hurriedly in the boy's wake; Joe just behind him, grasping Vanessa's hand tightly in his own; Megan holding Frank's arm loosely, allowing her boyfriend to do what he did best: observe, note, calculate, try and comprehend exactly what had happened. Joe watched his older brother looking at everything as they passed, considering how a theft might have occurred. _Well, that's Frank's method; for myself, I'll wait until I hear what Allison has to say, and find out more about what happened.._

When they reached the room where the orchestra members were, Allison flew into Phil's arms, choking back tears.

"Phil – my violin – it's gone; someone took my violin…" She buried her face in his shoulder, shuddering with sudden sobs.

"Shhh, shhh, don't cry, Alli, shhh…" Phil patted her back, making soft soothing sounds. "We'll get it back, don't worry…."

"Who are all you people?" The conductor loomed over the newcomers, glaring suspiciously. "What are you doing here?"

Phil stopped patting Allison. "Mr. D'Vargas, these are some friends of mine, from Bayport. Vanessa Bender, Megan Wright, and Frank and Joe Hardy. Guys, this is Mr. Anthony D'Vargas. Frank and Joe are detectives, sir, and I'm sure they can help find Alli's violin."

At that comment, _both_ Frank and Joe winced. It was difficult to maintain a low profile when one's sleuthing status was broadcast to everyone!

 _Phil knows better than to do that!_ Joe fumed. _Why'd he give us away like that?_ He realized, however, that Phil was probably attempting to make Allison feel better, and assuring her that her precious violin would be speedily recovered was the way to do it. _Well, maybe we can find it – after all, we just need to locate Rodney, right?_

"Detectives, eh?" The conductor looked unconvinced. Joe felt himself bristle reflexively at the unexpressed doubt, but kept a firm grip on his temper.

Allison was calming down now, since Phil was there to hold and comfort her, but it was obvious that she was still extremely upset by the loss of her violin. She dashed the tears from her cheeks with her palms, and straightened her shoulders, trying to gain control of herself.

"Allison, where was the violin, and where were you in relation to it?" Frank asked, calmly ignoring the curious clustered orchestra members and the disapproving conductor.

"I was sitting here." Allison indicated a circular formation of chairs. "Mr. D'Vargas was holding his usual after-performance critique and praise session. We were all sitting here," she repeated, choking a little. "My violin was back here. The case is still here." She led them about twenty feet to the rear, where several instrument cases were lying on the hardwood floor.

Joe knelt down beside the indicated violin case, but didn't touch it yet. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit, and pulled out a handkerchief. "Did anyone touch the case after you noticed the violin was missing?" he asked, as he carefully opened the case, using the handkerchief to shield his fingers.

"Yes," Allison nodded vigorously. "I did. It was open when I saw it was gone. I closed it then. And everyone started looking around back here to try and find it."

"And no one noticed anything peculiar – or saw anyone back here who shouldn't have been?" Joe continued his questions. He glanced from one young face to another as the orchestra members hovered about him. The only replies he received were headshakes and muted mumbles of denial.

"Let's check it out backstage," Frank suggested quietly, and Joe got to his feet. He and Frank moved to look through all the unlocked backstage rooms. Vanessa and Megan and Phil remained with Allison, as did Angel, and the rest of the young musicians.

Nothing appeared to be out of place or unusual – and then Frank, descending a half-flight of stairs down to what appeared to be a service entry, saw that the exit door was standing partly ajar! He hastened down the steps, and spotted a figure hovering in the middle of the aperture!

"Hey!" he cried, hurrying towards the door, but as he did so, the figure dodged outside and slammed the heavy door shut, right in Frank's face!

Joe had dashed down the stairs in his brother's wake, and now skidded to a halt beside him. "Did you see who it was?" he demanded, as Frank shoved at the door to open it.

"I sure did!" Frank replied. "It was that weird guy from Phil's apartment – Robert! The one who used to be Allison's boyfriend!" Finally the heavy door yielded to the brothers' pushing, and they leaned out.

There was nothing to be seen but a dimly-lit service bay, evidently seldom used. There was no sign of Robert.

"Stay here to let me back in," Joe instructed, and trotted outside to take a quick look around. Frank watched as he scanned the area, but it was evident that there was nothing to be seen. Joe soon returned, disappointed.

"Nothing – no Robert, and no one else, either."

"It looks like we have a suspect for our violin theft," Frank said. "Robert."

"We have more than one," Joe pronounced confidently. "My money is still on dear cousin Rodney. Find him, and I'll bet the violin is sure to be somewhere in his immediate vicinity! After all, why would Robert want Allison's violin?"

Frank gazed at him with his usual calm. "Maybe," he said cryptically.

Joe made a face at him. "Frank, face it, this time it's an open-and-shut case!" he insisted. "Hunt down Cousin Rodney, pummel the location of the violin out of him, and _voila_ , hand it back to Allison. Case solved!"

Frank's dark eyes held a twinkle of sardonic amusement. "Maybe," he repeated. "An open-and-shut violin case?"

Joe growled beneath his breath. Why couldn't Frank just admit he was right, for once?

The boys turned to go back to the others, but Frank halted almost immediately, and stooped down. "Hang on," he murmured, and Joe saw him pick up something from the floor.

"What is it?" Joe craned his neck curiously.

"It's a cuff link," Frank told him, and pocketed the item without displaying it. Without further comment, he went back to the main room, leaving a mystified and irritated Joe to trail along in his wake.

 _Why can't he ever SAY anything? Explain anything?_ Joe felt his teeth clench involuntarily. _You'd think he was being charged for every syllable he utters…._

"Did you find anything?" Phil demanded, as soon as they were within speaking distance, and was echoed by many of the orchestra members. Allison gazed at them, her green eyes imploring silently for hopeful news.

"Yes – we found a back door standing open," Joe reported. He didn't want to mention Robert at the moment. "Whoever took your violin, Allison, probably escaped that way."

"Did the security people see anything?" Mr. D'Vargas demanded.

Joe looked slightly puzzled. "We didn't see any security people," he said. "Were there supposed to be some around?"

"Yes, there are," Mr. D'Vargas grumped.

"We also found this, just inside the door," Frank said then, and took out the little piece of jewelry he had found. He held it where the conductor and Allison could see it. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Lying in Frank's palm was the cuff link, a small gold eighth-note, with tiny letters in the middle of it, Joe noted. He glanced quickly at the orchestra members, hoping to see some reaction or other; what he didn't expect was the reaction they received.

Mr. D'Vargas frowned. "Of course I've seen it before," he growled. He pushed up his coat sleeve, exposing his shirt cuff. "Every male member of the orchestra has a set of those, it's part of the uniform. See?" He indicated the gold eighth-note cuff link in his shirt sleeve, and gestured to the other orchestra members, who likewise showed the Hardys their sleeves. Every one of them displayed the identical cuff links. "The initials in the middle stand for Junior Symphony Orchestra. Someone evidently lost a cuff link."

"Oh….That's interesting," Frank commented quietly, and turned away from Mr. D'Vargas, re-pocketing the cuff link .

"What are you thinking?" Megan whispered to him. He glanced down at her intent face, and winked.

"I found this right in front of the open door," he replied softly. "It may have been there forever – or it may have just been dropped a little while ago."

Allison spoke up at that moment. "But it has to have been my cousin Rodney who had someone take my violin!" she insisted. "He's the only one who's ever shown any interest in having it, and he's not tried to hide the fact that he wants it very badly. No one in the orchestra would take it, even if it is worth a lot of money. Everyone has their own instruments!"

"Yes, I suppose so, although this could be something else, of course," Frank mused.

Joe eyed his brother keenly. He knew Frank too well to be fooled by the innocuous-sounding comments. _Frank thinks that someone in the orchestra took it!_ he realized.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mr. D'Vargas intoned, "it's getting very late. Put away your instruments, if you have not already done so, and we'll depart." He glanced at the little group formed of the Hardys, their friends, and Angel Coussard. As the director spoke, Angel reluctantly stepped away from the others, obeying the request to pack up the instruments. "Allison, I hope your friends can assist you," D'Vargas concluded, and turned away dismissively. The orchestra members followed suit, and in just a few moments the little group from Bayport, and Allison, found themselves alone.

"Did you find anything else besides that cuff link?" Megan persisted.

Frank looked down at her, his eyes twinkling. "You're getting too good at this," he murmured. Louder, he said, "Actually, we did. We saw someone – that fellow Robert was halfway-in the service door back there. But he got away before we could talk to him."

"Robert!" Allison stared from Frank to Phil. "How do you know him? And why would Robert have anything to do with taking my violin?"

"Frank, you know it must be Rodney," Joe persisted with his theory. "He was here, after all. We just need to find him, and get it back! We could go do it right now!"

"Rodney?" Now Allison's voice was escalating in pitch. "He was here too?" Phil murmured something affirmative but comforting, and pulled her closer.

Frank eyed Joe dubiously, and shook his head. "Joe, we have to get back to Bayport. I have to fly a run for Wayne's World tomorrow morning, and you and Vanessa have graduation rehearsal," he reminded him.

"We could find this Rodney guy, get the violin back tonight, and then go back to Bayport!" Joe stubbornly stuck to his plan.

"Joe, we don't know where to find Rodney, even if he does have it—" Frank's normally mellow voice evinced his frustration with his brother's scheme.

Vanessa caught Megan's eye and grinned; this had a very familiar ring to it.

"Alli and I know where Rodney lives," Phil interrupted the debate. "We can drive over to his place; we don't need you guys to help us track him down! If he has the violin, I'll call and let you know tomorrow – one way or the other."

Allison nodded vigorously. She had calmed down now, certain that her cousin was the one who had orchestrated this theft of her instrument. "I'm sure Rodney's the one behind this. I can't imagine anyone associated with the orchestra taking it, nor Robert, and Rodney's the only one I can think of who's ever tried to get it away from me. But to take it like this – he must be really desperate!" She frowned. "But I don't know how he managed to do it!"

Joe scowled, but knew when he was outgunned. "I don't like this," he grumbled. "I want to get it settled tonight." He eyed Megan and Vanessa hopefully, looking for support, but found none. "Okay, okay – I'll go back to Bayport tonight." His tone of voice, however, showed his disapproval of this plan.

"Joe, I'll be glad to drive back here early Sunday—" Frank laid a hand on his unhappy brother's shoulder. "but really, I do have to take that flight for Jack tomorrow morning. We have jobs, remember? Both of us." He squeezed Joe's shoulder gently.

"I know." Joe sighed deeply, but shrugged in resignation. "I just wanted to get it done with."

"Phil, we'll come back Sunday morning, unless you find it before then," Frank said. "In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you'd get the information for us on how to find Rodney, huh?"

Phil chuckled. "I doubt if Alli's going to want to wait that long—" He paused, grinning at Allison's emphatic head-shake. "But okay, no problem."

Bidding Phil and Allison goodbye, the four Bayport teens set out for the parking garage. They walked slowly, in deference to the girls' high heels, and both Megan and Vanessa clung to their escorts' arms. As they paced along the nearly deserted sidewalk, they discussed Alli's mysteriously vanished violin.

"It's usually the obvious person, right?" Joe pushed his argument. "It isn't just a joke that 'the butler did it.' And it's not a joke that the police always suspect the family members first, in a murder investigation, either! They're usually the ones behind it! And dear Cousin Rodney wants Allison's violin, and he'll take it any way he can get it. We should check up on him – right?"

"Yeah, we should check on him," Frank reluctantly agreed. Rodney was the most likely suspect, he had to admit that, although seeing Robert there backstage was disturbing. And maybe Robert had more of a motive than was apparent. "But it's not a murder, Joe, so maybe your theories don't hold water."

They continued the trek to the parking garage. Frank now had his arm draped about Megan's shoulders, cuddling her close to him as they walked. Joe and Vanessa were slightly ahead of them, swinging their linked hands. They came to the last crosswalk, and started across the street, for the signal was flashing "walk…walk…walk" continuously.

Halfway across, Frank looked up, alerted by a sudden sense of impending peril. Headlights glared, bathing them in a flood of light, and he heard the roaring engine and squealing tires of a rapidly-approaching car.

"MOVE!" Without further hesitation, Frank shoved Megan roughly forward towards Joe and Vanessa, as the car bore down on them….


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 6

Frank dove sideways, nearly blinded by the car's headlights. He hit the street with jarring impact, and rolled frantically towards the curb, hoping to avoid being struck. For a moment, all was glaring lights, thunderous engine noise, and the acrid stink of car exhaust, as the vehicle passed him, the wheels coming so perilously close to the prone Hardy boy that he scented hot rubber from the tires. Then it was past, blowing through the stop light. Squinting after it, Frank saw a couple other pedestrians further down the street leap out of the way of the marauding vehicle.

Frank lay still for a moment, attempting to catch his breath, and now feeling the discomfort of his abrupt landing on the pavement. _Ouch, ouch, ouch…!_ Gingerly, he started to push himself onto his elbows.

"You okay?" Joe was there now, crouching beside him. "That was a close one." Frank blinked at him, still a little dazed, and didn't reply.

The rapid tap-tap of high-heeled shoes announced Megan's and Vanessa's presence, and Frank suddenly found himself enveloped in silk, velvet, and jasmine perfume as Megan knelt and put her arms about him.

"Are you all right?" she demanded. "You acted so fast, pushing me ahead like that, but I was afraid you were going to be hit…."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Frank assured them, finally regaining his composure. He managed to achieve a sitting position, and kissed Megan's cheek in reassurance. "I wish I could have gotten the license number of that creep who tried to flatten us, that's all."

Joe and Megan helped him to his feet. "That's just the way people drive in New York," the younger Hardy shrugged. "You come to the big city, you expect to be flattened at any given moment." He surveyed his brother critically, searching for undisclosed injuries.

"New York drivers aren't usually quite that aggressive," Frank noted with a frown. He started to brush the dirt from his clothes, and winced at the resultant sharp pain in his left elbow. Checking more closely, he scowled when he saw the rend in his suit sleeve. "Great," he grumbled. "this was a new suit, too." He rubbed at his bruised elbow ruefully, still slightly shaken by the close call. Megan hugged him comfortingly, without further comment, and Frank felt grateful for her quiet, reassuring presence.

"Come on, let's get to the car," Joe suggested, marshaling the other three in front of him. "I don't feel like taking on any more crazed New York drivers tonight."

They entered the parking garage and rode the elevator to the level where Frank had parked the Saturn. When they reached it, Joe suddenly sighed in exasperation. "We were supposed to change again at Phil's! Now we have to stay in these clothes! And we forgot all about dessert!" he lamented.

Vanessa chuckled. "We can live without dessert for once – and is it really that bad to wear a coat and tie for another couple of hours, Joe?"

"The coat isn't so bad," Joe conceded, "but the tie goes – right now!" He tugged at the offending article of clothing as Frank unlocked the car, finally yanking it loose. Frank followed his example as the girls got into the car, and removed his suit jacket, wincing again as the movements jarred his sore elbow.

"Hey, you sure you're okay?" Joe's intent blue gaze speared his older brother. "If you'd like me to drive…"

"Let you drive my new car?" Frank gazed at Joe incredulously. "Surely you jest! You don't let me drive your Aztek!"

"I'd be careful, really—" Joe vowed, "so think about it. Because you look a little ragged around the edges, bro – and I don't mean the suit, either!"

Frank's eyes held gratitude at Joe's concern, but he shook his head. "I'm fine to drive. You just sit in back and cuddle with Vanessa," he teased softly.

Joe arched an eyebrow. "Gladly!" he grinned, and got in the back seat without further argument.

#####

Ten o'clock the next morning found Joe Hardy at home by himself. Frank had departed for Wayne's World two hours earlier, and the boys' parents had gone to a large arts and crafts fair in the nearby town of Bayview, accompanied by Aunt Gertrude, who had arrived from Florida two days before, planning to stay until after Joe's graduation.

Joe took a leisurely shower, turning over the events of the previous night in his mind. He realized that he couldn't remember Cousin Rodney's last name, if he had ever heard it. He wondered if it was the same as Allison's, and decided to call Phil and find out.

"Yeah, Rodney's name is the same as Alli's – Lewis," Phil told him, when Joe reached him on his cell phone. "Why do you want to know?"

"Well, I wanted to check with some sources we have, to find out if there's some particular reason Rodney needed that violin right now," Joe explained. "For instance, does he owe a lot of money to someone, or something like that? I can't do that unless I know his last name."

"Well, I don't know about anything like that; whether he needs money," his friend admitted. "But Allison's going to see Rodney today, and ask him straight out if he has the violin. And if he does, she's going to demand that he return it. After all, he can't keep it legally. The ownership got signed over to Allison, and she has the paperwork for it."

"That's a good idea, but be careful," Joe advised. "We nearly got creamed last night on the street. I can't imagine any connection, but—"

"What!?" Phil gasped. "Why didn't you say anything before, you idiot? Are you guys all right?"

"Calm down; yes, we're all okay," Joe reassured him. "Frank's suit coat was the only casualty. I think it was just your average New York pedestrian hit-and-run, but no one got hit, so I can't really be positive."

After finishing his conversation with Phil, Joe puttered around the house a bit more. He had to be at work by noon, and the first rehearsal for graduation was at four o'clock, but that gave him plenty of time. He dialed another familiar number – the Bayport Police Department – and added a frequently-called extension.

 _"Lt. Riley."_

"Con? It's Joe Hardy. Could I ask a favor? We need some checking done on someone in New York City, and I wondered if you might…." Joe let his words hang suggestively.

" _Probably – but might I ask why?"_ Amusement tinged the police officer's voice.

Joe explained the events of the previous evening, including the alarming near-accident with the speeding car, and gave Con all the information he had regarding Rodney, Robert, and the symphony orchestra.

" _Did anyone call the NYPD about the missing violin?"_ Con asked.

"Maybe." Joe frowned. "But actually, Con, I don't know that for sure. I just assume Allison reported the theft – or Phil might have."

" _Give me a couple of hours, Joe, and I'll get back to you,"_ Con promised.

When Joe explained that he would be gone, Con assured him he'd leave a message on the answering machine, and then ended the conversation.

Joe poured himself a cup of coffee, popped a sliced bagel in the toaster, and settled at the kitchen table with the morning newspaper. He enjoyed having the house to himself.

When Joe arrived at the Wayne's World hangar at noon, he found Jason Montgomery, his fellow cargo-handler, already hard at work. April Wayne and Frank were both flying runs, but Jack hadn't left yet.

"Hi, Jason!" Joe waved and smiled at the tall young man, and immediately fell into the familiar work routine. "When does Jack have to leave?"

"By one o'clock, he said," Jason replied, hefting a carton and carrying it towards the cargo hatch of the green-and-gold plane Jack was still leasing. Business had picked up for Wayne's World, and Jack had found it necessary to expand his operations. Fortunately, having Frank and April both available to pilot made it feasible.

The two young men quickly finished loading the plane with its assigned cargo, and double-checked the paperwork. Joe was just flicking dust off the instrument panel – he'd found his boss was fussy about that! – when Jack emerged from his office, ready to roll.

"Everything set to go?" the lean young pilot asked, glancing from Jason to Joe. The boys nodded, and Jack climbed into the cockpit. "I'll be late getting back, so don't worry about sticking around," Jack called down through the window. "Either April and I'll clean things up, or you guys can do it Monday." He waved, slid the window closed, and started the engines. Jason and Joe backed away from the plane, and watched as it rolled across the tarmac towards the runways.

"Hate to leave you, Joe, but I've got to take off by two," Jason informed him, as they moved to check Jack's lists for their next tasks. "Maybe you can coax April into helping you clean up her plane when she gets back. She lets you talk her into almost anything, I've noticed."

"Gee, thanks!" Joe chuckled ruefully. Since he was scheduled to work until three-thirty, he knew he'd have to clean out April's and Frank's planes when they arrived back at the hangar. Frank might help with his – well, April might, too, if he worked it right!

After Jason departed, Joe found time hanging heavily on his hands. He tidied everything he could find to tidy, checked the manifests for Monday's runs, and was sitting behind Jack's desk playing computer solitaire when the growl of an airplane's engines alerted him. Either April or Frank had returned! Joe got to his feet and hurried out of the hangar.

It was April. She expertly steered her plane to its usual parking spot, and flung open the door, then sat for a moment enjoying the cool breeze blowing through the cockpit. Joe stepped over to the plane to help her alight.

"Hi, Joe!" She took his extended hand and jumped down, her caramel-colored pony tail bouncing.

"Hey, kid." Joe smiled down at her. April Wayne had driven him nuts a few years back, but they had become close friends in the past couple of months. "How was the flight?"

"Good." April grinned with satisfaction. "And not too much cleanup, either, so be grateful!" She reached back into the plane and grabbed her bag, then headed for the office, to log in her flight time. "Back in a minute," she tossed over her shoulder to Joe, who had already begun his task of tidying up the cockpit.

 _It's still got that 'new-car' smell,_ Joe noted, leaning in. _Well, 'new-plane' smell, I guess it would be._ For this was the newest craft in Jack's small fleet, replacing the one April had crash-landed two months earlier. Frank and Jack traded off in flying, taking whichever plane was ready when they needed to leave, but April jealously guarded 'her' plane, and seldom let either of the men use it, now that her broken arm had healed and she could pilot again. She had, however, intimated that she might use it for Joe's flying lessons – that is, if he ever screwed up the nerve to take her up on her offer!

Joe heard giggles from the hangar, and when April emerged, Joe saw her freckled face was suffused with laughter. "What's so funny?" he asked.

Shaking her head, she wiped tears of laughter from her hazel eyes. "You'll never believe this one…. There was a phone message from a potential customer," she explained, leaning against the plane. "Someone who wants us to transport llamas!"

Joe gaped at her incredulously. "Llamas?" he repeated. "Why? And where? And would Jack do it?"

"I have no idea," she gurgled, "but I'll tell you this, he's not using MY plane to carry them around! Can you imagine what the cargo hold would be like afterwards?"

Joe thought about it, and grimaced. "Remind me to schedule around that flight," he said. "I don't want to know!"

"It's better than elephants," April said, still giggling. She climbed back into the plane and headed for the rear cargo area.

"How's it feel to be all done with school?" April called to Joe, a moment later, as they worked.

"Mah-vel-ous!" he exulted. "I've got the whole next week off, too – no finals!"

"Lucky you!" April popped her head into view and stuck out her tongue, then disappeared again. Joe chuckled.

"How's Todd?" he queried teasingly. "Still the one-and-only?"

"Todd's just fine," came the muffled reply from the interior. "He's got summer league baseball practice next week, as well as finals." April didn't comment on the one-and-only reference.

"Hope his team does well," Joe said. He liked Todd Mitchell; they had been teammates on Bayport High's baseball team for two years, and Joe had introduced him to April.

Before the plane was spruced up to April's satisfaction, Joe's cell phone chimed in his pocket. He pulled it out and flipped it open. "Joe here," he intoned.

" _Joe? It's Phil."_

"Phil!" Joe was surprised to hear from his friend again so soon; after all, they had just chatted earlier that day. "What's up, guy?"

" _Uh – nothing too much,"_ Phil sounded tense.

"Did you and Allison go to Rodney's and get back the violin?" Joe queried. As he spoke, he saw April's eyes alight with curiosity as she openly listened to his side of the conversation.

" _Joe – I just wanted to tell you, you and Frank don't need to come to New York tomorrow,"_ Phil blurted. _"Everything's fine – I'm sure the police will take care of finding Alli's violin."_

Joe's brow creased in a slight frown. "You don't want us to come? But why? Frank and I are glad to help locate it. Did you see Allison's cousin Rodney about it?" he repeated.

" _Everything's under control, Joe."_ Phil said _. "You and Frank shouldn't bother coming all this way for no reason."_

 _He's not answering my question about Rodney,_ Joe thought. _Why?_ Aloud, he said: "Phil, you shouldn't leave finding that valuable violin in the hands of the police – they'll never find it! Has something happened?" he continued to press. "Why don't you want us there, all of a sudden?"

" _Just drop it, Joe!"_ Phil snapped. _"Alli and I don't need you, all right? Just stay in Bayport!"_ There came the CLUNK! of a receiver being slammed down, which made Joe wince and jerk the phone away from his ear…and then silence.

Phil had hung up on him!


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 7

Joe stared at the little cell phone in his hand, stunned. What had gotten into Phil? Why was he warning them off the case? _Hardly anyone even knew we were looking for that violin! And why would it matter if we were?_

Joe hit buttons to call Phil back, but repeated ringing brought only a voice-mail response. Either Phil had turned off his cell phone, or was refusing to answer it.

 _If Phil thinks he's going to talk us out of working on this for some reason, he's got another think coming!_ Joe fumed silently, listening to the recorded message play. _I'm not going to let him try and do this alone – and Frank wouldn't either!_ Scowling, Joe hit the Off button on his phone and shoved it into his pocket. He was tempted to simply get in his car and head for New York, graduation rehearsal or no rehearsal… _But…_ He paused, feeling torn. _I can't go. Even if it wasn't for the rehearsal, I can't go. That dinner with Vanessa tonight is way too important to skip…at least for the moment._

"What's wrong, Joe?" Joe looked up to find April standing next to him, inquisitive hazel eyes fixed on his face. "What was all that about?"

"I'm not sure," Joe admitted. "A very confusing phone call from Phil Cohen." He went on to explain about the missing violin, and then told April of Phil's mysterious attitude on the phone.

"Weird," she commented. "Anything I can do to help?"

"Nah – thanks, kiddo, but there isn't anything you can do," Joe assured her. Seeing her anxious expression, he patted her shoulder in reassurance. "Don't worry about it; Frank and I will get it sorted out when we get there tomorrow."

As if mentioning Frank's name had produced him from thin air, the elder Hardy arrived at the airfield scarcely ten minutes later. Joe walked out onto the tarmac, watching Frank taxi up next to the hangar and then sit there, doing his post-flight checks. He grinned as Frank finally climbed out of the cockpit and looked around, brushing off his red polo shirt and smoothing the wrinkles from his khaki slacks.

"Hey, little brother!" Frank greeted him, lifting a hand in acknowledgement of Joe's presence.

"How was the flight?" Joe asked him.

"Great!" Frank smiled. "Long, but good…. I like this job – a lot!" he added, with deep satisfaction.

"That's good…speaking of jobs," Joe plunged into the worrisome topic, "I got a really weird call from Phil a little bit ago."

"Oh?" Frank arched an interrogatory eyebrow. "Weird how?"

Joe detailed the brief, disturbing conversation he had held with Phil, and watched Frank's features contract with concern.

"That is unusual," Frank conceded, "and mysterious. Doesn't sound like Phil at all, especially since you say you talked to him earlier, and he didn't seem upset then. What do you think?"

"I think we should get to New York sooner rather than later," Joe stated firmly. "I'd be pushing to leave right now, only…." His voice trailed off into silence.

"Only?" Frank prodded gently.

"I've got that stupid rehearsal – and then I have a date tonight with Vanessa," Joe mumbled, somewhat embarrassed. "It's a big dinner date….It's important. I can't miss it."

"Of course not," Frank's tone was entirely understanding; although his dark eyes held a glint of suppressed amusement. "We'll go tomorrow morning, just like we planned. In the meantime, I'll keep trying to get hold of Phil. I'll keep calling until I manage to reach him. If he won't answer his home phone, then maybe I can track him down at work, or something."

"Do you think he'd be working on Saturday night?" Joe said doubtfully.

"No, but I'll check every angle if I need to." Frank turned and began walking across the pavement towards the hangar.

Joe followed him, still looking worried. "Frank, you don't suppose someone grabbed Phil – that he's being held captive, or something? And was forced to make that call? And that's why we can't reach him now?"

Frank's reply was calm and matter-of-fact. "Actually, no I don't. If I thought that, I'd be on my way to New York right now, and I'd be taking Jack's plane to do it. I think Phil's avoiding us. I believe someone's gotten to him by threatening either him, or Allison, and that's why he's trying to head us off. We need to get hold of him, and talk him out of this nonsense, that's all. He knows we won't let something like that stop us."

Joe glanced at his watch. "I agree – but you're going to have to be the one doing the calling; I'm going to be busy for the rest of the evening. In fact, I've got to leave right now, or I'll be late to rehearsal as it is!"

"You aren't going out to dinner dressed like that, are you?" Frank ran a disapproving eye over Joe's denim shorts and t-shirt. "You have time to change between rehearsal and dinner?"

"I'll have to make time," Joe said grimly. "I'll see you at home." He broke into a trot, heading for the parking area where his Aztek sat. Halfway there, Joe spun around. "Frank, Con's checking out Rodney for us – said he'd leave a message on the answering machine if he found anything!" he yelled.

Frank waved his understanding, and watched Joe depart, then he turned back to the plane, to finish all his post-flight checks, and begin cleaning it up.

Two different trains of thought ran through Frank's head as he worked. One was a semi-permanent thread that was always there, now, in some form: _What's Megan doing now? How soon can I see her again? Did I remember to tell her last night how very beautiful she looked? Can we get together tonight?_

The second was very different: _What's up with Phil? Why would he have made that strange call to Joe, when he'd been all for us working on finding Allison's violin just this morning? There has to be a reason he did it. It can't be that he and Allison got the violin back – he'd have just said so, if they did._

Frank paused in his work, pondering the many questions he was coming up with. _Who knew we were on the case? Rodney might – if he saw us and recognized us somehow, that is. But that's a long reach. That guy at Phil's apartment, Allison's ex-boyfriend…he might have. And he was_ _there_ _. Angel Coussard – and any other member of the orchestra who was paying attention, last night._ There were too many possibilities, and no answers to the questions.

Frank walked into the hangar and made his way to the office, to fill out the log book.

"Hi, April," he greeted, seeing her seated behind Jack's desk, reading a book.

"Hi, Frank!" She looked up and smiled brightly. "Good flight?"

"The best," he nodded. "Yours?"

"Wonderful," she beamed. "I love my new plane!"

"Your plane, huh? Possessive, aren't you?" Frank smiled as he bent over the book to write down his flight information. _Mileage…fuel used…time…._ "What are you doing tonight?" he asked, closing the book and standing straight.

"Nothing much," she admitted. "Todd's tied up with a family thing tonight, so I'm just waiting for Jack to get back from his run. We might go to a movie after dinner, if he's not too tired." She lifted her book. "Studying for finals."

Frank gave her a thumbs-up of approval. "Good for you. Stay cool – I'll see you in a couple of days."

"Bye." She waved a hand as he left the office.

Frank went out to his car, and settled into the driver's seat. Instead of starting the engine, however, he took out his cell phone and tried to call Phil. His apartment number was picked up by the answering machine _. Maybe his cell phone?_ Voice mail…. Frank left messages on both, asking Phil to please call him, ASAP, then leaned back in his seat for a moment, rubbing his face and trying to think.

Frank was worried about Phil and Allison, and he was also puzzled about that gold cuff link he had found on the floor of the concert hall the night before. He had no way of knowing whether it had any connection to the missing violin, after all. It might have been dropped months ago; the corridor was deserted, with people walking through it only rarely.

 _But it_ _could_ _connect someone in the Junior Symphony,_ his mind insisted. _And all of them knew Joe and I were trying to help Allison find her violin._

Realizing that he had no answers to his questions, Frank started his car and drove home.

Laura, Fenton, and Gertrude were back from the craft fair, and the women were in the kitchen, preparing an early dinner while Fenton worked in his office. Frank greeted his mother and aunt, then checked the answering machine, hoping that Con Riley had dug up something interesting – or incriminating! – on Rodney Lewis. But he was doomed to disappointment; there were no messages.

He decided to seek some expert assistance with his dilemma.

"Dad?" Frank tapped lightly on the half-open door to his father's den. "Are you busy?"

"Not terribly." Fenton Hardy looked up from his paperwork and smiled a welcome at his elder son. "What do you need?"

"Advice," Frank admitted. He had told his parents about last night's concert, this morning at breakfast, and about Allison and the missing violin. "You know Joe and I were intending to help locate Allison Lewis' stolen violin…well, Joe got a really odd telephone call from Phil this afternoon." He proceeded to tell Fenton about the conversation. "Why would Phil not want us there?" he demanded, "Unless he was being threatened or coerced in some way. Besides, who even knew we were there, or that we might be any sort of threat?"

"The members of the orchestra knew," Fenton reminded him. "And you say you saw Allison's cousin Rodney there. It wouldn't take too much to put two and two together. You and Joe have had your pictures in the New York papers enough times for various cases, remember."

"I know, but it seems a real stretch to think Rodney would have recognized us."

"There's also the man who took the violin from Allison outside the restaurant. You chased him; let's assume he got as good a look at you as you did at him. And what about the man you saw at Phil's? Robert? You said you saw him at that back doorway, and he ran away….Could he have taken the violin in an attempt to get Allison back? And might he have figured out who you were?"

Frank shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know that much about the guy – only that he seems obsessive about Allison and definitely doesn't like Phil!"

"Fenton, Frank – dinner." Gertrude Hardy popped her head around the door to make the announcement. "Come eat before it gets cold."

Over dinner, Laura and Gertrude chatted about the craft fair, enthusing over the things they had seen and, in some cases, purchased. It sounded as if there were going to be a lot of hand-crafted birthday and Christmas gifts in the offing. Even Fenton admitted that he'd seen some very nice items.

Frank tried to listen politely, but his mind wandered. _What was going on with Phil? Could Robert have come back and done something to him? He hadn't seemed like much of a threat, but you never could tell about people…._

"Frank? Son?" Frank jumped at the touch on his shoulder, and looked up. Fenton was standing beside him, smiling good-humoredly. "We've received our marching orders," his father informed him. "According to your Aunt Gertrude, you and I get to clear the table and do the dishes tonight."

"Hmph!" Gertrude snorted eloquently. "There's no reason Laura and I should have to do it; we made dinner, after all! You menfolk can just share the work!"

Frank glanced down at his plate. Somehow, he'd managed to eat his whole dinner without realizing it! He got to his feet and began stacking plates.

As they cleared the dishes from the dining table and put them in the dishwasher, Fenton brought up the subject which was preying on Frank's mind.

"What are you intending to do next, Frank, about this situation with Phil and the violin?" he inquired.

"Keep trying to get hold of Phil, for starters," Frank replied. "I also want to check and see if anyone's attempted to sell the violin already." He began running hot water into the sink, preparing to wash the items which didn't fit in the dishwasher. "I'll check some of the Internet online auction sites first, and then I think I'll call some places around New York. It's a long shot, I admit, but it's not like I have anything else to do right now."

"And go to New York tomorrow," Fenton said.

"Right – Joe and I'll go first thing in the morning. If Phil's in some kind of trouble, we're going to do something about it. And there's no way we'd let ourselves be threatened into not helping him. We just have to be careful so that nothing happens to him, or Allison."

"Those are good ideas, son." Fenton thought a moment, then added a further comment. "If I could suggest something – you might try finding everything out that you can about that missing violin. And about Allison's great-grandfather, too. If he was with the Vienna Orchestra, and had any acclaim at all, there might be something about him in an online site. And I'm sure there's more information than you want, on Stradivarius violins!"

Frank smiled. "Thanks, Dad, that's a good suggestion. I will. I wish I had Allison's telephone number; I'd give her a call. I wonder if Julliard has an online directory – some schools do. If it doesn't, I could try Directory Assistance."

A short time later, with KP duty finished, Frank went to his room, game plan firmly in mind. He switched on his computer, preparing to start surfing. _First, though, there was one very important phone call he needed to make…._

"Megan? Hey, Baby – I've missed you!"


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 8

Frank finished his conversation with Megan, concluding it with plans to pick her up in two hours' time to go to a movie. He turned his attention to the computer screen, and had just typed in the words 'Julliard School of Music' to start a search, when a series of loud noises both outside and in alerted him to the fact that his younger brother had arrived home. Frank turned around in his desk chair and listened, grinning as he tracked Joe's progress by the sounds.

 _RRRRRRRR!_ The Aztek's engine filled the warm summer evening with its reverberations, the noise floating in through Frank's open bedroom window. It was accompanied by a sharp screech of tires, then cut off abruptly.

 _THUNK!_ The slam of the car door re-shattered the silence, followed by rapid footsteps on the driveway.

 _KER-BAM!_ The front door was opened and slammed shut with considerable force, and the continued footsteps resounded through the front hall.

"Joseph Hardy! What are you doing, coming in here like that?" Gertrude's voice sounded from the family room, raised in angry demand.

"Sorry!" That was Joe – definitely sounding harried.

 _THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!_ Again, footsteps, this time pounding up the staircase, and the next minute, Joe himself dashed past Frank's door, heading for his room at a dead run.

Frank glanced at his watch. _Six-fifteen – Joe's_ _really_ _going to have to move it, if he has dinner reservations for 7!_ Frank got to his feet and walked into the bathroom which connected the boys' rooms. Through the other door, he could see Joe frantically snatching articles of clothing from his bureau drawers.

"You're going to have to hustle," he commented mildly, knowing his calm would drive Joe even further around the bend.

"I know, I know, I know!" Joe's tone managed to combine a growl of frustration and a pathetic wail. "That darned Mrs. Martell and her 'let's run through this one more time'!" He headed into the bathroom, pushing past Frank, and turned on the shower. "The only good thing is, Vanessa's running late too – but I still have to get out there and pick her up!" He stripped off his clothes and flung them irritably at his brother. "Get out of my way and let me panic in peace, huh?"

Chuckling, Frank obliged, returning to his room and his Internet search. But he kept part of his attention on Joe, and marked his activities. The shower snapped off in record time, and then there was relative silence as Joe dressed, broken only by muted grumbles about dress shirts, cuff links, and having to dress up two nights in a row – and then another anguished wail:

"Frank! Help!"

"What is it?" The elder boy walked into the bathroom, where Joe was standing before the mirror, a panicked expression on his flushed face.

"I can't get my tie tied—" Joe looked as if he wanted to scream. "I'm doing it the same as always, I swear, but it won't work, and I'm laaaate…" He jerked wildly at his blue-and-gold tie, which was undeniably hanging askew.

"Calm down," Frank soothed, and stepped behind him, reaching over Joe's shoulders for the refractory article of clothing. "Relax, Joe, you'd think you'd never had a dinner date with Vanessa before, the way you're acting!" Carefully, he loosened the tie, and began re-tying it.

"It's different tonight…we're going to that 'Miracles Can Happen' place." Gazing into the mirror, Joe nervously watched Frank's deft fingers manipulating the soft length of fabric around his neck. "That's a really special place, and I don't want anything to screw this evening up…. Not so tight; you'll choke me!"

Frank ignored his brother's protests, finished knotting the tie, and patted it into place over Joe's white shirtfront. "There. It's fine now, see? Take it easy, Joe, huh?"

"I'm trying, believe me – thanks." Joe sighed, hastily stuck a gold tie tack into his tie, and picked up a comb.

"Any time." Frank leaned against the wall and watched Joe comb his wavy blonde hair.

A little calmer now, Joe met his brother's eyes in the mirror. "Did you get hold of Phil?" he questioned.

"No – just had to leave a lot of messages," Frank replied.

"Did Con call?" Joe picked up his suit coat and struggled into it, then stamped his feet into his dress shoes.

"No, not yet."

Oh his way into the hall, Joe halted, scowling with frustration. "If we can't find Phil—"

"If we can't find Phil, we'll go to New York tomorrow morning, just as we've planned," Frank finished for him. "Now take some deep breaths, and try to relax, and go pick up Vanessa." He gave Joe an encouraging smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Have fun, little brother – and step on it!"

Joe looked at his watch, groaned loudly, and tore down the stairs at breakneck speed without a backward glance.

"Don't wreck the Aztek!" Frank shouted after him, and smiled devilishly when _that_ comment elicited a shriek of dismay from Aunt Gertrude. Still smiling, he returned to his own room and resumed his online search.

#####

Thirty minutes later, Joe and Vanessa were ushered to their table and seated with grave formality by their waiter. He placed menus before them and retreated, letting the young couple settle into their places and admire their surroundings.

 _Miracles Can Happen_ was a new restaurant in Bayport, and it had rapidly become the talk of the city; for its décor, its food, and its overall ambiance. The serving area was divided into several different rooms, each depicting a different dream scene, all of them elaborately decorated.

The room where Joe and Vanessa sat was devoted to fairy tales and fairies. Quotes from famous fantasy stories, written in elaborate, curliqued gold paint on large scrolls, decorated the walls. Filmy draperies in pastel shades floated in the soft currents of air emanating from the air conditioning vents, and replica 'fairies' hung suspended from the ceiling by invisible threads here and there, seeming to hover over the dining tables on their iridescent, gauzy wings. In one corner of the room, a violinist coaxed soft melodies from his instrument. All was glitter and gauze, mist and magic, music and surreal, ethereal beauty.

"Joe – this is absolutely incredible!" Vanessa's voice was hushed as she gazed about her. "I'd heard it was beautiful, but – but – this is beyond anything I could have imagined!"

He looked about too, trying not to mind the fact that his collar felt like it was strangling him – or maybe it was his tie! _Frank tied it too tight; I knew he was, when he did it!_ "It is pretty, isn't it?"

"'Pretty'?" Vanessa's laugh bubbled. "Is that the best you can do? It's beautiful!" She continued to stare at the room, awestruck. "And the music…"

Joe wrinkled his nose slightly. He would have preferred a rock band to the syrupy strings. "It's nice," he conceded, "but he's not as good as Allison and Angel, last night!"

Vanessa smiled at that, and nodded her agreement. "Well, that's true, but after all, symphony musicians don't usually moonlight in restaurants. Or maybe they do, if they need the money."

Joe leaned his chin on one fist, and focused on the girl seated across the table from him. "You fit right in here tonight, babe – you look pretty dreamy yourself."

She blushed. "Thank you." Her color deepened as Joe continued to gaze appreciatively at her. "I'll admit, I'm fond of the dress." She smoothed the soft folds of her long-skirted, silvery-blue dress. "We match, sort of – both in blue. Although you have a white shirt on tonight, instead of blue like you had last night."

"Sort of match," Joe agreed. Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the menu. "Let's see if there's anything to eat in here besides nectar and ambrosia, hmmm?"

#####

The food proved to be as good as the décor was beautiful. Joe was happy to see steak and baked potatoes on the menu; he had almost been afraid that all he'd find would be salads and quiches. Vanessa's seafood plate had delighted her, and they both enjoyed the delicious meal immensely.

Over dinner, the conversation skipped from topic to topic:

…The restaurant themes.

"Did you see the Arabian Nights section?" Vanessa queried. "I peeked in when I went to the ladies' room. Some time, Joe, I'd like to eat there; it's nearly as beautiful as this part is – and you might like it even better!"

Joe cocked a blonde eyebrow. "Harem girls in gauzy pants?" he suggested with a teasing laugh.

"A few," his girlfriend admitted, smiling. "Aladdin's lamps on the tables, magic carpets, scimitars hanging on the walls."

"Next time," Joe nodded. "We'll eat there next time."

…Graduation, and the frustratingly long rehearsal they'd had to put up with that afternoon.

"If Mrs. Martell thinks we need more rehearsals, after that one today, she's crazy!" Joe muttered resentfully.

"Well, there were some people who didn't appear to know their left feet from their right," Vanessa reminded him. "Mrs. Martell just wants things to be as perfect as possible."

…Devon and Chet, who appeared to be more and more "in like" as time passed. Joe commented that he'd never seen Chet so totally enamored with any girl before, and Vanessa agreed. She hadn't known Chet as long as Joe had, but since she had, he hadn't ever been involved with a girl; at least not the way he was involved with Devon Marshand.

…Phil and Allison Lewis, the concert they'd attended the night before, and the astonishing disappearance of the valuable violin.

"And we got a weird phone call from Phil this afternoon, telling us not to come to New York tomorrow," Joe confided. "And we haven't been able to reach him, since."

"But you're going, of course?"

"Yes." Joe nodded grimly. "We're definitely going."

When dessert time came, Vanessa decided on rainbow sherbet, which to her utter delight was served in a frosted glass dish shaped like an open lily. Joe opted for cheesecake. For a few minutes conversation lagged as they consumed the delicacies – and then Joe, who had been nerving himself up for some time, broke the silence.

"Vanessa – babe – I want to tell you something, please?"

She picked up her coffee cup and took a sip, gazing across the table at Joe's handsome, earnest face. "I'm listening," she smiled.

"When you first came to Bayport – remember?"

"I certainly do. My first day at school, my car tires were slashed, and you and Frank came to my rescue."

"Well, before then…. Before you came to town, Beautiful, I was out of control, pretty much. Sort of like walking a high wire without a safety net, on purpose. No one said anything, but everybody knew it, even me, although I didn't want to admit it. I'd lost Iola, and I missed her desperately. I felt so alone."

A pained look came into Vanessa's wide gray-blue eyes, and she dropped her gaze to her coffee cup to hide it. References to Iola always hurt. But Joe was continuing on:

"I felt like I was going off the deep end, most of the time. I flirted with every girl I could, and threw myself into solving cases…trying to keep my mind occupied, and to forget. But it didn't work very well. Everything was dark, and kept getting darker." He swallowed, dredging up painful memories. "And then – then you blew into town." Suddenly, the sapphire eyes were alight again, glowing with happiness. "All of a sudden, things weren't dark anymore. Because there you were – light and warmth and laughter."

Joe reached across the table and covered Vanessa's hand with his own. "Babe, you taught me how to love again, when I'd given up on it. You gave me a reason to move on, and a hand to hold, when I thought I was trapped forever in that black pit of despair. You made me laugh again."

Vanessa stared into his eyes, her own filling with tears. "Oh, Joe…"

"I love you – I know I've said it before, but I want to say it again. I love you, Vanessa – I could keep on saying it, again and again. You made all the difference in my life." Suddenly abashed, Joe found himself turning a bright shade of pink. "Uh – I didn't mean to go overboard—"

"You didn't – it was – oh, Joe!" Vanessa's smile lighted her face, where a diamond teardrop or two sparkled on her cheeks. "Listen… When Mom and I moved here, I didn't know what to expect. I was scared, and unhappy about leaving New York. I was nervous about coming to Bayport and starting school in the middle of the year, and I was afraid I might not fit in, or make any friends. When I saw the tires of my car, that first day, I was sure of it. But then you and Frank appeared, like magic. And now I know why I came here. Why I had to come here. Because here is where you were – waiting for me." She squeezed his fingers tightly. "And it was the luckiest day of my life when I walked out of the school and found those slashed tires!"

Joe, still embarrassed at his show of raw emotion, ducked his head and pulled her hand across the table, bringing it to his lips for a swift kiss. "I love you," he repeated. He caressed her fingers, tracing over the ridges and bumps of the large class ring he had asked her to wear.

"And I love you," she replied, very low, and smiled, teasingly but tenderly. "Which is a very good thing, since I'm wearing this ring – isn't it?"

Their waiter had remained tactfully in the background for some time, sensing their need for seclusion; now he drew near and offered coffee refills. Vanessa accepted; Joe shook his head, and leaned back in his chair, waiting for the waiter to depart. Smiling impishly, he reached into the inside pocket of his suit coat.

"I thought this might be a nice time to give you your graduation gift," he said, drawing forth a small white box adorned with a blue bow.

Vanessa broke into laughter. "We think alike, Sherlock," she teased. "Because I brought yours, too!" Bending down, she felt in her bag, and produced a box as well, larger than the one he held, wrapped in shiny silver paper.

Joe's eyes widened. He hadn't really expected to be receiving a present tonight, just giving one. "For me? Thanks, Van!" They exchanged the boxes, then sat smiling at each other, unsure of the next move.

"Go ahead, open it," Vanessa said finally, gesturing at the box Joe held. "I'll go second."

Joe needed no further urging. He tore off the paper, and then sat staring at what was revealed. "Wow! Vanessa, this is GREAT!" With reverent fingers, he opened the box. "A mini-recorder with a high-powered directional mike – Van, do you have any idea how much I've wanted something like this?"

She laughed. "Well, a little, yes." _You only mentioned it longingly every couple of days for the past three months, that's all…_

"This is gonna be so great!" Joe exulted. "Thanks a million; I can hardly wait to try it out!" Recalling that Vanessa had yet to open her gift, Joe quelled his enthusiasm a little, and resolutely shut the box. "Now open yours, Babe."

Smiling in anticipation, she removed the bow and gently lifted the lid of the small white box, then gasped with pleasure. "Oh, Joe, it's lovely!" Carefully, she removed the contents and held it up: a flattened, gold heart-shaped locket suspended from a delicate gold chain. "It's absolutely beautiful; I love it!"

Joe smiled in satisfaction. "I hoped you would. I thought it would look pretty on you."

Vanessa was exploring the locket now, carefully undoing the tiny clasp and opening it. "OH!"

"You can always change the pictures, you know…" Joe's voice was a touch nervous.

"Are you kidding?" Vanessa gazed at the tiny images of Joe and herself. When the little heart was opened halfway, it seemed as if they were smiling at each other. "Why would I want to change them? They're perfect. Thank you Joe, thank you so much!" Setting the locket down momentarily, she reached to the back of her neck and undid the clasp of the necklace she was wearing. "I want to wear it always!"

With great tenderness, he helped her fasten the locket, and then kissed her cheek. "Happy graduation, Babe."

"Happy graduation, Joe."


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 9

Sunday morning found the Hardys en route to New York City once again. Although Joe had initially insisted that they head there as early as possible, when his alarm had sounded, he had merely shut it off and returned to sleep. It was, therefore, nearly ten when he and Frank finally hit the road.

Frank, behind the wheel of his Saturn, briefly glanced at his younger brother, who had reclined the passenger seat as far as it would go, and had his arm across his eyes, evidently sound asleep. He knew that Joe had wanted to make this journey in the Aztek; he had wished to drive himself, rather than letting Frank do it. _But he's not nearly awake enough to drive!_ Frank commented to himself. _Although his pride would never let him admit to it, he stayed out way, way too late last night to be in any condition to be behind the wheel!_

But Joe wasn't quite as deep in slumber as he appeared. About fifteen minutes into the trip, he removed his arm from his face and turned towards Frank.

"Wanna hear 'bout las' night?" he murmured drowsily, and yawned widely.

"Sure," Frank smiled. "What was the restaurant like?"

Joe yawned again, and reached for the controls to raise his seat back. "It was really something," he said, beginning to sound more awake. "It lives up to the hype; it's a fantastic place!"

"Let's hear about it," Frank encouraged him. He wasn't merely being polite; he wanted to know what _Miracles Can Happen!_ was like.

"Well…you know it's got these different themes for different parts of the restaurant, right?" Joe waited for Frank's confirming nod, then continued. "We ate in the 'fantasy/fairyland' section, but we looked at the others before we left. There's also an Arabian Nights theme," he grinned reminiscently, "with harem girls and curved daggers, and incense burners. And an Elizabethan England sort of thing – you know, Henry the Eighth and all that. You and Megan would probably get a kick out of that."

Frank wrinkled his nose expressively at _that_ comment, but didn't bother with a verbal response. He just let Joe ramble on contentedly.

"And a futuristic, science-fiction one – you know, _Star Wars, Star Trek_ , that sort of stuff."

"Steak skewered on a light saber?" Frank inquired, with a chuckle, which was echoed by his brother.

"It was cool, really!" Joe insisted. "They had cantina music from the first _Star_ _Wars_ movie playing, and aliens roaming around. Models of _Enterprise_ and the _Millenium_ _Falcon_. And then there's a part that's Roman or maybe Greek – you know, gladiators and togas and lounging couches." He looked slightly embarrassed. "I think maybe that's for a little more sophisticated crowd." He paused a moment to collect himself, then continued. "And they're developing one that's Oriental. I'm not sure if it's Japanese or Chinese, or a combination of both, but it'll be pretty too, when it's done."

"And the food was okay?" Frank inquired, glancing in the rear-view mirror at a semi which was barreling down on them at an indecent speed. He put a little pressure on the gas pedal, to remove them from immediate harm.

"It was great!" Joe was finally looking wide-awake now. "You should definitely take Megan there, bro, she'd love it!"

"I will," Frank nodded. "It's been awhile since we've gone out to dinner."

"Vanessa looked totally gorgeous…." Joe's smile was a little dreamy now. "She had on this silvery-blue dress. Sleeveless, with a long skirt. It sorta shimmered, every time she moved. She looked like a million dollars! And she wears that really good-smelling perfume…."

Joe grinned, pushing back the blonde locks from his face and relaxing back in his seat, closing his eyes to more clearly visualize Vanessa last night. _It was really a great night…beautiful girl, great food, romantic atmosphere….And judging by the amount of kisses I got, Vanessa liked it too!_ "Huh? What'd you say?"

"I asked you whether she liked the locket," Frank repeated his question patiently. Joe had been extremely nervous about that gift for Vanessa!

"She did!" Joe beamed happily. "She really liked it a lot – oh, hey! She gave me something…hang on, lemme show you…." He twisted about in his seat, and stretched to reach his backpack, lying on the rear seat. "Look!" He pulled out the box containing the mini-recorder with its high-powered directional microphone.

Frank glanced at it, then extended his hand, so that he could examine the little device and still keep his eyes on the road. "Hey, cool! Joe, this is great! This will come in handy on cases!"

"I know!" Joe waited a moment, then snapped his fingers impatiently. "Give it back, Frank. It's mine, remember? MINE! So hands off!"

"Just looking at it, little brother." Reluctantly, Frank returned the recorder and concentrated on the road.

"What did you end up doing?" Joe asked, slipping his present back into his backpack and putting it in the back seat. "Did you ever hear from Con?"

"Yep," Frank nodded. "After you left, I did some research on the 'Net, and then Con called, and then I took Megan to a movie and we went out for coffee afterwards."

"What did you see?" Joe realized that Frank wanted his chance to talk about _his_ evening, so asked the appropriate questions. Eventually, he'd get to his conversation with Con, given time. "Some chick flick, I suppose?" he added, disparagingly.

Frank slanted a quick glance at him. "Don't start, kid.… Actually, we went and saw that new James Bond release; do you consider that a 'chick flick'?"

"Well…no," his younger brother admitted. "Was it good?"

"Very. And Megan looked equally as good as Vanessa," Frank chuckled, staunchly defending his girlfriend. "Even if she wasn't dressed up. And we talked about the symphony Friday night, and she said how much she liked going. We had a really nice time, even if it wasn't a fancy dinner date!" _And the way that girl can kiss…!_ he continued silently.

"Hey, I didn't mean – I wasn't dissing her," Joe protested. "You know I think she's great – you've found a real gem of a girl this time around. But don't tell her I said that!" he added hastily. "Don't give away my secrets, huh?"

Frank laughed easily. "Megan knows, doofus; you make it pretty obvious, and she's not exactly stupid. If you want to keep secrets from her, you'll have to try a lot harder."

"Aw, jeez," Joe muttered, flushing – but there was a smile on his face. It was obvious to anyone who might have cared to look, that he was very fond of Megan Wright. "So—" he hastened to change the subject, "you said you did talk to Con? What did he have to say?"

"Not as much as I'd have liked – and yet, maybe I know more than I thought I would," Frank said cryptically. He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. "First off, Rodney Lewis: He doesn't have any sort of criminal record. He's a student at New York Technical Institute, where he gets average grades. He's been going to school, on and off, for quite a while; he's in his mid-twenties. He has filed a petition twice in the courts, attempting to get ownership of a rare Stradivarius violin from one Allison Lewis. Both attempts failed, due to the fact that Allison's grandparents – well, Rodney's grandparents too, for that matter! – are both alive, and testified that they wanted her to have the violin. Also, Allison plays it – it's not a curio, a collector's item. She uses it!"

"Uh-huh." Joe had settled back comfortably in his seat again, but he wasn't dozing off; he was listening intently.

"Con said that all he could find in the court records was that the lawyer – Allison's lawyer – said it was a point of obsession with Rodney Lewis, and the lawyer recommended that Rodney get psychiatric counseling."

"I take it Rodney didn't follow the advice?"

"Not so far as Con could find out." Frank shook his head. "Con did say one other thing, though."

"What's that?" Joe cocked an inquiring eyebrow.

"Rodney's racked up a lot of debt, to the tune of something like forty thousand dollars," Frank announced grimly. "That's a lot for a college student from a middle-income family. Maybe that's why he wants to get the violin…he's spending well beyond his means, and needs the money he'd get from selling it."

"Well, I told you he was the one who took it!" Joe reminded him, smugly. "Anything else?"

"Con said he'd keep on looking, but he didn't really expect to find anything more. Since Rodney doesn't have a criminal record, there just isn't much for him to look into."

"But it's a motive!" Joe insisted. "It's more of a concrete motive for Rodney to be the one who took it."

"Mmmm." Frank didn't reply, other than an abstracted murmur; traffic was beginning to get downright hazardous, and he had to put his full concentration on his driving. The other motorists didn't seem to want to pay attention to what they were doing – or perhaps it was more that, although they were paying attention, they simply didn't care if there was someone in their way! "I really don't like New York drivers!" he commented, after a few moments.

"I could have driven, you know," Joe reminded him. "I was perfectly willing to drive! I even volunteered, if you remember!"

"The object, my dear little brother, was to get to New York in one piece, not in a thousand pieces, and you were practically walking in your sleep when we left."

"Ha-double-ha-ha," Joe grumped. "I could have done it just fine; you just don't want to admit that I'm a better driver than you are!"

Frank gave him an amused, oblique glance. "Not in this lifetime!"

A little further on, the traffic congestion eased a bit, and Frank resumed his report of the previous evening's activities.

"I ran a search on Strad violins, and struck out. There are tons of references to them; it would have taken me days to sift through all of them. So I tried a different angle; I looked for information on the Vienna Symphony. Dad suggested it," he added honestly.

"Any luck?" Joe inquired. Almost beneath his breath, he added, "Getting tired yet? Want me to drive?"

Frank snorted, ignored the muttered questions, and answered the relevant one. "I got history on the Vienna Symphony, and I found mention of Frederick Mueller – Allison's great-grandfather!"

"Really?" Joe stopped gazing out the window and turned his eyes toward his brother. "What did it say?"

"Well, first off, he didn't buy that Stradivarius violin. He won it, as a prize! There was a contest held in Vienna, before the First World War. From what I read, he took the place by storm – it said his playing was 'brilliant' and 'inspired,' His technique was flawless, and he was largely self-taught!"

"Whew!" Joe whistled softly. "That must be where Allison gets her talent!"

"I agree." Frank nodded. "Well, anyway, there were five contest winners – a violinist, that was Mr. Mueller; a viola player, a cellist, a harpist, and a string-bass. They formed a string quintet, at the behest of the Conductor of the Symphony, and they all won these marvelous instruments as prizes. They were the finest that could be obtained – purchased by the Archduke of Austria, himself!" Frank's soft baritone voice was awed.

"That's great to know; it's all well and good, but…" Joe hesitated, reluctant to break the spell of Frank's story. "but what does it all mean? Is any of it particularly helpful to finding the violin now?"

"I don't know," Frank conceded. "It may not be helpful at all, I admit. It may not even mean anything, other than history. But there's a chance it might be helpful later. At least we have the information now, and that's what's important…right?"

A short time later, Frank exited the freeway and began making his way through the residential streets to the neighborhood where Phil's apartment was located. He parked the Saturn in the garage where Phil had parked Friday night, and he and Joe set out for Phil's place.

"I wish we'd been able to get hold of Phil," Frank murmured, as they walked along the street, past the many buildings that looked so much alike. "I don't know why he's avoiding us – doggone it, we're his friends! He knows he can trust us!"

"The only thing I can think of, is that it must have something to do with Allison," Joe offered, lengthening his stride to match Frank's pace. "That's the only reason I can come up with that would make Phil avoid us."

"Well, we'll find out pretty soon…" Frank hurried up the worn concrete steps of Phil's apartment building and yanked open the door to the lobby. They summoned the creaky, rickety old elevator, and got in, both boys holding their breaths in trepidation as it strained its way up to Phil's floor.

Neither ringing the doorbell nor knocking produced results. The Hardys rapped, rang, and called Phil's name for several minutes, to no avail. Finally, they stepped back from the door and eyed each other.

"If he's here, he's got more willpower than I thought he did," Frank said ruefully. "I don't think I could sit and listen to somebody pound on my door and not answer it. So I guess it's safe to bet he's not home."

"Time for a little magic," Joe said, and winked. He reached into his pocket and produced a small packet which was very familiar to Frank; he owned an identical one. "Hope Phil doesn't pitch a fit over this…" Joe set to work with the lock picks, and in just a few minutes, had managed to jimmy Phil's door lock. "Piece of cake," the younger Hardy whispered, as he heard the soft _snick_ of the old mechanism releasing.

"After you," Frank grinned, and gestured for Joe to enter the apartment first. But as they stepped inside, both boys halted, frozen in their tracks.

No persons were to be seen – but someone had definitely been there! An 8 x 10 photograph of Phil Cohen was impaled on the wall opposite the door – held in place by a knife thrust through it…. A knife with crimson fluid covering the blade and dripping down the wall – a liquid substance the color and consistency of blood!


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 10

"What the…?" Joe's exclamation was hushed with horror, and he instinctively gripped his elder brother's arm. "That looks like – is it—?"

"Dunno…" Frank breathed. "That's about as obvious a death threat as I could imagine, don't you think? We were right about someone threatening Phil!"

Quietly, the two stepped further into the apartment. "Careful not to touch anything, we don't want to muddy potential clues," Frank cautioned, and received a disgusted look from Joe in return.

"Helloooo – I'm not a total novice at this, remember?" the younger Hardy reminded him. "PHIL?" he bellowed suddenly into the silence, nearly causing Frank to leap out of his shoes. "Phil? You here?"

No answer, only continued silence.

Frank, still edgy with reaction to Joe's yell, crossed the living room, heading for Phil's room, where the girls had changed their clothes on Friday night. He wrapped his hand into his shirt tail before touching the doorknob, and gently eased the door open.

 _A little messy, but just lived-in,_ he mused, looking around the small room. Phil was fairly neat, but all available surfaces were cluttered with various sorts of computer equipment and techno-toys; with a few pens, small tablets of paper, and office supplies included. From what Frank remembered of Phil's room back in Bayport, he deduced that Phil had acquired a few more gadgets since leaving home. _I'd have a hard time figuring out if anything was missing, here – I don't know what all Phil owns, now!_

Frank backed out of the room, and saw Joe emerging from Phil's roommate's bedroom. "Nothing," the younger Hardy muttered. "And he's obviously not in the bathroom," he added, indicating the open door. "This place is about the size of our garage," Joe went on. "In fact, the garage might be a little bigger! I wonder if this is what it would be like if you and I shared an apartment in the city, instead of living at home?"

"Not much chance of that happening any time in the near future; not with us going to college in Bayport," Frank replied.

"I don't even want to think about going to college!" Joe protested. "I just escaped high school, remember?"

"You haven't officially escaped high school," Frank reminded him gleefully. "Not until you have that diploma in your hot little hands, and that doesn't happen for nearly another week. There's still time for the teachers at Bayport High to realize they've made a horrible mistake with your grades, and keep you there for another year," He grinned teasingly at Joe, highly amused by his brother's stricken look.

"Bite your tongue!" Joe said. He walked over to the half-obscured picture of Phil, and leaned close, examining it carefully but not touching it. Then he laid a finger in the gooey red substance.

"Careful," Frank warned. "It might be something caustic—"

"I am." As Frank watched with apprehension, Joe brought his finger to his nose, sniffed, and then tentatively touched his tongue to it. A grin spread across the younger Hardy's face.

"Ya want fries with that?" he said.

"Ketchup?" Frank asked, heaving a sigh of exasperated relief.

"Ketchup," Joe confirmed. He went over to the desk and pushed the playback button on Phil's telephone answering machine, again being careful not to add his own fingerprints.

Silently, they listened to the messages. Three were from them; two from Joe, one from Frank. "I probably left more than that on his cell phone," Frank commented quietly. Four more messages were directed to Matt, Phil's roommate. There was nothing that sounded remotely like a threat to Phil. The final message was to Phil, but it was his boss, asking him if he could possibly change his schedule and work some hours on Sunday.

"Sunday – that's today!" Frank realized. "Phil might just be at work!" _If we've dashed up here and gotten all worried over nothing, and all the time he was just at his job…!_

"Can we call him there?" Joe asked, switching the answering machine back to recording mode.

"I don't have his work number," Frank frowned, and looked around near the telephone, hoping to see it written down somewhere. "I suppose Computer Wizardry is in the telephone book, though—"

"Maybe in his planner?" Joe suggested, and began hunting through the drawers of the desk, no longer being quite so careful about leaving fingerprints. He unearthed an extremely scribbled-on planner, and started leafing through it.

The sudden noise of a key being inserted into the door lock made both the boys jump. "Hope it's Phil!" Joe breathed, but their hopes were dashed when the door was shoved open and a stranger walked in. This, then, must be Matt, Phil's roommate.

The newcomer jerked to a halt, startled first by the impaled picture of Phil, and then by seeing the Hardys. "Who are you?" he demanded harshly. "What are you doing here? And what the heck did you do to my wall – and to Phil's picture?"

Frank stepped forward. "I'm Frank Hardy," he said. "I'm a friend of Phil's, from Bayport. This is my brother, Joe. You must be Matt?" He extended his hand towards the other man. "We didn't do that to your wall; it was like that when we got here." He hoped fervently that Matt didn't think to question _how_ he and Joe had managed to get into the apartment!

"Frank Hardy?" Matt relaxed and took Frank's hand in a friendly clasp. "Phil's told me all about you guys! You're like FAMOUS, man!" He shook hands with Joe. "And yeah, I'm Matt – Matt Eckersley."

"Don't believe everything Phil's said about us," Frank chuckled. "He was probably telling you a pack of lies."

"I don't think so, man – aren't you guys like, detectives, or something?"

"Well, something like that," Joe admitted. He stared at Matt, taking in the other's guy's appearance. Matt was about four inches shorter than Joe's six foot, and extremely skinny; he probably didn't weigh much more than 140 pounds. He had long, streaked blonde hair, with one vagrant lock which hung over his right eye. Said eye and its mate were a greenish-hazel in color, and he appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in jeans and a heather-gray tee-shirt with a well-known sports logo on it, and a silver stud earring in his left ear sparkled in the beam of sunlight coming in through the window.

"Do you guys know where Phil is?" he asked now. "And what about this?" He pointed to the knifed picture.

"We were hoping you knew!" Joe exclaimed. Quickly, he explained about the strange telephone call he had received from Phil ordering them not to come to New York. "And we haven't been able to reach him since!" he concluded. "We've been trying here, and on his cell phone, but…no answer!"

"Oh, man." Matt ruefully shoved back the unruly strand of hair. "I haven't been here – I spent all of yesterday and last night with my girlfriend, Macey. I haven't seen Phil since two days ago. He wasn't home when I woke up yesterday – but that's not unusual; Phil keeps, like, really weird hours."

Frank choked back a laugh; he suspected that it was _Matt_ who kept 'really weird hours,' rather than Phil Cohen, but he didn't voice his suspicions. Aloud, he said: "Do you have Phil's work number, Matt? Or Allison Lewis's? Or both?"

Matt nodded. "Sure do," he said, and ambled over to the small kitchen area. He opened a small card file box on the counter and pulled out a card. "This is Phil's number at Computer Wizardry. Allison's number is on the pad by the phone. So's Macey's number," he continued. "You know, in case of emergencies, and stuff like that."

"Thanks." Frank took his cell phone from his pocket, and dialed the number for Computer Wizardry. When his call was answered, he asked for Phil, but was told that Phil wasn't available. Frank asked if he could possibly speak to the manager.

"That's me," the cheerful voice on the other end of the line responded. "Brad Turnbuckle."

Frank recognized Turnbuckle's name; this had been the man who had called Phil and left the message about changing his work hours. He explained who he was, and how he had been attempting to contact Phil.

"I'm really sorry, Mr. Hardy, but I can't help you," Turnbuckle said now. "Phil called and told me that something had come up, and that he wouldn't be able to work the extra hours I'd asked him to. That's why I'm here; I had to come in and take this shift. I guess I can't complain, though; Phil's usually real good about covering when we're short-handed, and if he asks to take some extra time off, it's not that big a problem."

"When did you see Phil last?" Frank asked.

"Yesterday," Brad answered. "He worked a split shift on Saturday – pre-opening at 7, till 10. Then later, noon to three. That's his usual schedule on Saturdays."

"Anything unusual happen, that you can remember?" Frank pressed, hoping for any sort of clue, no matter how marginal.

"Well, yeah—" Turnbuckle's voice was thoughtful. "Phil got a phone call about an hour before his shift was over. I don't know what it was about, but he was really quiet after that, and kind of distracted. But he did his usual good job, even so, and I didn't make a big deal out of it."

"Thanks, Mr. Turnbuckle. If you happen to hear from Phil, could you give me a call?" Frank left his cell phone number, and ended the call, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration as he tried to make heads or tails of what this all meant.

Matt had plopped himself down on the couch while Frank was talking to Brad Turnbuckle, his thin face somber as he listened to Frank's side of the conversation. Now he spoke: "Do you two dudes think someone's like, kidnapped Phil, or something?" he demanded.

"We don't know," Frank replied. "It doesn't make any sense that anyone would do that, but neither does the fact that Phil's disappeared and isn't answering his phone, or trying to contact us. It's not like Phil to act this way – so there must be something important going on!"

"Totally," Matt concurred. "Phil's like, a really level-headed guy, and way too smart to let some bogus phony scare him." He glanced at the picture. "But that's like extreme nasty, that is! What the heck's going on, anyway? You said something about a violin?"

"Allison Lewis's Stradivarius violin disappeared after the concert on Friday night," Frank informed him. "We were at the concert, and Phil asked us to look into it."

"That was after someone tried to snatch it from her right on the street!" Joe chimed in. "But then Phil called and told us not to come…"

"That is a total bummer, that someone would make off with Allison's strings like that!" Matt scowled. "Not cool – not cool at all!" He looked from Frank to Joe hopefully. "Is there anything I can do to help you guys? 'Cause it would be like totally righteous if I got to help you dudes out on a case, or something like that – I've always wanted to have an adventure!" He grinned engagingly, and both Hardys automatically smiled in response.

"If you can, Matt, we'll be sure to let you know," Joe assured him. "There may be something you can do."

"Dude!" Matt brushed back his hair again, his smile wide with anticipation.

"One thing you definitely can do is call us if you hear from Phil," Frank said, and jotted down his and Joe's cell numbers on the pad next to the telephone.

"Definitely, dude."

Taking note of Allison's phone number, Frank tried calling her next, but there was no answer. Snapping his teeth together in frustration as he listened to the monotonous ringing followed by the answering-machine pickup, Frank finally disconnected and turned to Matt again. "Do you know where Allison lives?"

"Sure do," was the response. "Her parents don't live all that far away, but she stays at the dorm at Julliard most of the time. Phil told me she lives there year-round, because she is going to be taking summer classes. I can give you directions." He paused, consideringly, then went on. "Hey, would you like me to call Macey, my girlfriend? She's a student at Julliard too – only she's a singer, not an instrumentalist. She does, like, musicals – like off-Broadway shows. Her teachers really hate that!" he added, chuckling. "They want her to concentrate on serious singing, I guess. But that's not where the money is."

Frank nodded, but steered the conversation back to Allison. "That would be great, Matt, if you would call her. If Macey could help us find Allison, it would be a big help!"

Matt nodded amiably, and dialed the number. "Babe? It's me…"

While the Hardys waited, Joe pulled another little kit from his pocket, and proceeded to go over the picture and knife and the surrounding wall for fingerprints. First he applied a fine spray, then brushed dust over the area, but after a few moments he shook his head at Frank, and mouthed _clean_. Whoever had done this had covered their tracks.

Matt had observed all this with fascination while carrying on a conversation with Macey. For the most part, all the Hardys heard was "Babe," and "Sure, Baby," and "no freakin' way!" but he did make his request for her to check on Allison Lewis. After a few minutes Matt hung up and reported his findings.

"Macey's like going to go over to Allison's room," he informed them. "She'll see if Alli's there, and if she isn't, at least she could talk to her roommate, Sarah, if she's there. Maybe she can find out something." He stared at Joe's activities. "Dude, that is like extreme cool!"

"Didn't come up with anything, though," Joe grunted, and returned the apparatus to his pocket.

They waited for what seemed like an interminable time, but was in reality only ten minutes or so. When the phone rang, Matt jumped for it. Frank and Joe were hoping against hope that it might be Phil himself – but they could tell from Matt's "Hey, Baby!" that it was Macey, calling him back. After a brief conversation, Matt hung up and turned to them, his eyes wide.

"Guys, Macey talked to Allison's roommate," he said. "Allison wasn't there. And Sarah had just got there; she was away last night. She said that there was a message on their answering machine – a guy said that if Allison didn't let the violin go, he was going to get rid of her! PERMANENTLY!"


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 11

"What?" Joe's jaw dropped, and Frank's forehead knotted in a scowl.

"This is getting serious," he said. "Both Phil and Allison have been threatened about that darned violin. But for Pete's sake, why? It's a violin – a musical instrument! It seems so weird that someone would threaten to kill them if they don't let it go. Yes, I know—" he continued, as Joe opened his mouth to interrupt. "It's probably worth about a million dollars, and people have killed for less…"

"Exactly," Joe muttered, slightly nettled at being anticipated.

"But something about this case is starting to make me squirrelly, and I'm not ashamed to admit it," Frank concluded, still frowning.

The Hardys gazed at each other for a moment without speaking. Even Matt was temporarily stunned into silence – _probably a rarity in itself_ , Frank thought to himself with a wry chuckle. He turned away from Joe's intent stare, and looked thoughtfully out of the window. _I don't know. Nothing makes much sense…and nothing connects. I just don't know_.

"Well—" Joe broke the silence, "what shall we do next? Allison's not at her dorm, Phil's not here, and we can't find either of them!"

Frank didn't have an immediate answer for that. Joe and Matt waited – both of them impatient, but with surprising forbearance – while the dark-haired sleuth thought the situation through once more, staring down at the worn carpeting and tapping his fingers against his thigh – a gesture Joe recognized as ' _Frank deep in thought_.' Finally, Frank spoke:

"I think it's time we found dear Cousin Rodney."

"Excuse me, but haven't I been saying that?" Joe muttered…very softly, so that Frank wouldn't catch it.

Frank, hearing the mutter but not the actual words, favored Joe with a warning glance, and continued. "It's a place to start, anyway. And we might want to check out that ex-boyfriend too…Robert. After all, he was there at the concert hall on Friday night. If he's as obsessed with Allison as he seemed to be, he might be involved in all of this."

"Nah – can't be!" Joe objected. "He's interested in Allison – not Allison's violin! He wouldn't hurt her – at least, I don't think he'd hurt her," he added, a trifle doubtfully. "Besides, he's got that French accent; that would have been a dead giveaway with the phone messages."

"He could be working with someone else," Frank pointed out, reasonably. "Anyway, haven't I always told you not to make quick assumptions about people?"

"Like, what do you mean by that, dude?" Matt asked, with interest. He had been watching the interchange between the brothers, his fascinated gaze bouncing back and forth as they talked.

"I mean that everyone's a suspect until they've been ruled out with solid evidence, that's what," Frank informed him with a tight grin.

"Even me?"

Frank nodded. "Even you."

"Cool!" Matt said enthusiastically. "I've never been a suspect before! Are you gonna grill me now?"

Joe burst out laughing at that, and even Frank had to chuckle. "Sure. Grill him, Joe," he said.

"You got it," Joe grinned, then spoke with mock severity. "Okay, Matt, I want the truth now – what can you tell me about Phil's normal haunts?"

"Normal haunts, huh…let's see." Matt stretched his legs out and stared ruminatively up at the ceiling. "The New York Public Library…the library at school. His job at Computer Wizardry. The computer lab at school – he spends a lot of time there, even though he's got a sweet setup right here….Allison's dorm. Sometimes – hey!" Matt yelped, and sat up, suddenly animated. "Allison's parents live real close by, you know, like south of the city! Maybe they've gone to see her parents!"

"Matt, I think you just earned that high salary we're paying you; that's a great possibility!" Joe enthused, and slapped the other's shoulder in congratulation.

"And if they're going to see Rodney, they'll have to go there too!" Matt continued, waving his hands in excitement. "I remember – I think I do, anyway – Phil and Allison talking about Rodney, before. They said he still lives with his parents, and it's somewhere near Alli's folks' place. That guy's a real loser," Matt commented with a disdainful twist of his lip.

Joe laughed at the observation. "Matt, you are one heck of a big help – really!"

"Do you have the address for Allison's parents' house?" Frank asked. Matt nodded, and gestured at the card file box. Frank started to look, then suddenly stopped, struck by another idea. "Can I use Phil's computer?" he asked.

"Sure, dude." Although mystified by the abrupt switch, Matt motioned towards Phil's bedroom. "Help yourself."

Frank turned on the computer, glad to see that Phil splurged on a cable modem with instant Internet access. He hastily went to a site he had visited the previous night.

"What in the world are you looking for?" Joe had followed his brother into Phil's room, and was now perched on the bed, staring over Frank's shoulder at the monitor.

"I had an idea on the other instrument winners in that contest," Frank replied, scrolling down the screen. He jotted down some names on a piece of paper, then left that website and went to another. Again he searched, scrolled, and jotted names. Finally, he exited out and turned the computer off, then stood up.

"Okay – let's go ahead and go to Allison's parents' house, and see if we can't find her and Phil."

Joe, secretly contemplating fratricide for all the guesswork Frank made him do, agreed.

"I'd love to go with you guys, but I have to work in an hour," Matt mourned. "I just came home to get changed, really."

"Sorry, Matt," Frank commiserated.

"It'd be too fun to go along with you," Matt went on wistfully. "Can you at least keep me posted on what's happening? Maybe I can help!"

"I promise, if we need your help, we'll call you," Joe vowed. "You've been great, Matt!"

"Thanks, dude!" Matt smiled happily. "And if Phil calls, or anything, I'll let you know."

Worried still, but glad to have a concrete objective in mind, the Hardys left the apartment and walked back to where Frank had parked his car. With Frank at the wheel, they went back into the New York City Sunday afternoon traffic.

"Okay – I've waited long enough," Joe said, finally. "Spill it. What's with the names you wrote down, off the computer?"

"I just had a hunch," Frank told him, smiling obliquely. "I want to check into it after we see if Phil and Allison are at her parents'. Those instruments which were awarded as prizes in that contest were all expensive – top-of-the-line. Comparable to the Stradivarius violin."

"So?" Joe wrinkled his nose. "I doubt that that has anything to do with it. My money's still on Rodney – or that sleazeball, Robert!"

Frank drove a while in silence, then glanced over at his brother. "I think I'm going to do something I may regret," he murmured.

"What's that?" Joe turned inquiring blue eyes towards him.

As usual, Frank didn't give him a straight answer. "When we get to where we're going, I think I'd better go in and talk to Dear Cousin Rodney and maybe his parents. And you can go over to Allison's, and see if you can locate Phil. See if you can find out what's going on with those two."

Joe drew in an incredulous breath. "You mean you'll let me drive your new car?" he gasped in mock-surprise. He slapped a hand against his chest, eyes wide. "I'm not sure my heart can take this shock!"

Frank snorted. "Against my better judgment," he grumbled. "But I don't see any way around it." He glared briefly at Joe, then returned his eyes to the road. "But one scratch – just one, mind you! – and I take it out of your hide, little brother. And your paycheck!" he threatened.

"I'll be careful!" Joe promised meekly. He knew how Frank felt; after all, he hadn't let _anyone_ else drive his Aztek, yet! "But are you sure you want me to go to find Phil? I'd rather take on Crazy Boy, instead!" His eyes lighted with anticipation. "Aw, c'mon, let me at Cousin Rodney, Frank!"

"Nope, no way, not a chance, forget it." Frank shook his head decisively. "That's the reason I'm going to talk to Rodney and you aren't. Your enthusiasm – shall we call it by its true name, overkill? – can take you so over the top, sometimes…."

"Maybe you're right," Joe sighed as he made the admission. "But don't ever expect me to agree with you like this again!" When Frank's chuckles had subsided, Joe continued in a more serious vein. "Are you sure you're okay with going to see Rodney alone? You won't have any way to escape from Looney Boy, if I take the car. Maybe we should do both tasks together, instead."

"No, I'm thinking that we'd better split up this time. Time may be of the essence, and we can cover more ground faster that way. And Rodney's not crazy. He didn't look crazy, anyway."

Glancing at the slip of paper Matt had given him, Frank squinted at the scribbles. "I'm going to check a phone book," he said, and when they reached the desired area, began scanning for a gas station with a phone booth in the nearby vicinity. Spotting one, he pulled off the street, and hopped out to check the book dangling from its chain.

"We're in luck!" he reported, upon returning to the car. "I've got addresses for both, and telephone numbers. Lucky that Matt knew Rodney's dad's name was Collin; there are a ton of people named Lewis!" Frank held up his notebook, and Joe saw names and addresses penned in Frank's meticulous printing. "And I asked the station attendant for directions." He turned the key in the ignition, and prepared to re-enter traffic. "Let's go!"

#####

Frank pulled up in front of Collin Lewis' house, and got out, leaving his door open for Joe to take his place behind the wheel. "You'll be careful, right?" Frank asked again, trying to mask his concern for his car as Joe slammed the car door.

"I promise, not a scratch on it," Joe vowed. "Now go on, before I decide to trade places with you and take on Weird Rodney!"

Joe waited until Frank reached the front door before putting the Saturn into gear, familiarizing himself with the switches and controls of this new car. He didn't pull away from the curb until he'd seen the door opened, and Frank talking to someone. Then he accelerated into traffic, following the directions to the other Lewis home. From what he read, it wasn't all that far – probably about six blocks, and, he surmised, in a slightly more upscale area of town.

When Joe arrived at Allison Lewis' parents, he didn't need special devices or extra-sensory perception to know that Phil and Allison were there. Simple observation was enough: Phil's car was parked in the driveway. Joe parked the Saturn on the street, and hurried up to the front door, where he impatiently pushed the doorbell.

When the door was opened, he smiled impishly down at an astounded Allison Lewis. "Hey there! Long time no see!"

"J-joe!" she stammered. "I – didn't expect to see you!"

"No, I'll just bet you didn't," he said sardonically. Joe looked over Allison's shoulder as Phil came up behind her. "We came to help, whether you two wanted it or not. Ready to tell me what's going on, yet?"

"Come on in, Joe." Phil looked both exasperated and resigned. "I guess I should have known this wouldn't work, as far as keeping you guys out of it." Phil looked around, as Joe entered the house. "Frank's not with you?"

"Not right now," Joe replied. "Why haven't you answered our calls, you fuzz-brain?" he burst out. "We went to your apartment – saw a really nasty thing on the wall—"

"I already know about that," Phil said. He and Allison led the way to a sunny, wide-windowed room overlooking the street. "I'm sorry, Joe – but I got messages from the person who stole the violin – at least, I assume it's who took it. Some guy, anyway. He said that if I got involved trying to recover it, or if anyone else got involved, that Allison would be hurt!" He slumped into a plushy chair and rested his head on his hand, disconsolately. "I couldn't risk that!"

"And I was contacted too," Allison put in, seating herself on the couch beside Joe. "As much as I love that violin, and want it back, it's certainly not worth anyone getting injured over, or killed!"

"I'm not going to let some jerk keep an instrument that they stole from you and don't own!" Joe retorted hotly.

He was about to say something more when he happened to glance out the window, and saw a car parked just behind Frank's Saturn. The car had darkened windows, but they weren't shaded enough for Joe to miss seeing someone sitting in the interior with binoculars trained on Allison's house!

"Hey! Somebody's out there casing the place with binoculars – Phil, you and Allison stay put. I'm going after this goon who's watching you guys!" Joe leaped from his seat and rushed for the door without a backward glance, or waiting for a response from Phil. He flung himself outside and raced down the walk, intent on a confrontation with the person inside the car. But as he neared the vehicle, he heard the engine roar to life and rev a few times; and watched helplessly as the car sped away down the street!


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 12

Frank walked boldly up to the front door of Rodney Lewis' home, aware of Joe's eyes fastened on him from the car, but intent on his errand: talking to Rodney and confronting him about Allison's violin and his obsession with it.

 _Wow, nice home_ , he thought, noting the old Colonial-style structure. The house was large, and extremely elegant, for all it was probably over 200 years old. The front yard flowed into side yards, and evidently into a fenced back yard, too. The wide porch looked to have recently been given a fresh coat of paint, and held comfortable-looking outdoor furniture. The windows sparkled, and Frank could see draperies at the sides of the clean glass panes. The smoothly-turfed lawn was neatly trimmed; there were well-kept flower beds on either side of the steps, fronting the porch, and he glimpsed a small pond with lily pads, and a cranky-looking duck paddling about the surface. _Either these people are avid gardeners, or they have a really good lawn service!_

After looking vainly for any sign of a doorbell, Frank resorted to knocking on the door with the old-fashioned wooden knocker. He waited, and at last his patience was rewarded. The woman who opened the door was perhaps his mother's age, but lacked Laura Hardy's casual elegance. Of medium height, just slightly plump, with shoulder-length mousy brown hair and blue eyes which looked weary, she surveyed Frank suspiciously.

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

"Mrs. Lewis? My name is Frank Hardy. Is Rodney home? If so, could I see him, please?" Frank responded, in his most courteous manner. "I've driven out from the city to talk to him about something rather important."

The woman sized him up for a moment, evidently trying to come up with a reason to deny the request, but finally relented. "Just a minute. I'll tell him." She turned and departed, leaving the door open. Frank could hear her moving around in the house, and then heard her calling Rodney's name.

At least two minutes passed before anyone returned to the door. At last a tall, lanky man appeared, followed by the woman. Frank recognized him from the concert Friday night. _Early-to-mid-twenties, unremarkable features, his hair the same mousy brown as his mother's…_ somehow, Frank suspected that Rodney would look older than he really was, before his time. _Maybe he'll lose his hair…_ Frank thought, fighting back a smirk, and extended his hand to shake Rodney's.

"Rodney? I'm Frank Hardy. I'm a friend of your cousin Allison's."

Rodney glowered at his visitor and disregarded the proffered hand. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

Frank smiled. "Perhaps we could talk in private?" he suggested.

The other young man glanced over his shoulder at his mother for a moment, then shrugged and stepped outside, onto the porch with Frank. He closed the door carefully behind him.

Frank surveyed Rodney more thoroughly now. _Clean-cut, even if he is sort of_ _blah_ _…nice clothes. New Dockers, new polo shirt, new Reeboks – and fashion eyeglasses that probably cost more than my computer! He doesn't look as if he's having money problems, like Con said – unless, of course, the nice clothes are part of the problem. Maybe he's buying things he can't really afford. It's hard to tell right away…._

"All right, we're alone. Now, what do you want?" Rodney Lewis again demanded. His brown eyes flashed angrily behind the designer glasses. "Did Allison send you, or something?"

Frank decided to cut straight to the heart of the matter. "Did you know that your cousin's violin was stolen on Friday night?"

"Yeah, I know. Allison and her computer-nerd boyfriend were here yesterday, demanding to know where it was!" Rodney sneered. "Well, you know what?" he said, moving closer to Frank, getting in his face, "I don't have it. I'll never have it, because my grandparents are idiots! That violin should have been mine, but they gave it to Allison, instead!"

Frank retreated half a step, before Rodney could move any closer. He looked thoughtfully at the attractive house, and wondered again just why the man was so obsessed with Allison's violin.

"Why do you want it so badly? Do you play, like your cousin does?" Frank asked, knowing quite well that Rodney did not.

"No, I don't," Rodney snapped, "but I'm the oldest grandson, and that's who should inherit valuable things like that Strad!"

"Don't you think it would mean more to your great-grandfather for Allison to have that violin? After all, she plays, and beautifully," Frank persisted. "And if you did take it, you know you'll never be able to sell it, don't you? That is why you want it, isn't it? To sell?"

"It's none of your business why I want it!" Rodney grated. "But it doesn't matter anyway – because I don't have it! And I'm damned glad that Allison doesn't, either!" Rodney whirled about and went back through the large mahogany door, slamming it shut behind him.

Frank stared at the door for a moment, but finally shrugged and descended the porch steps, making his way back to the sidewalk. He set out for Allison's home, checking the directions given to him by the gas station attendant.

#####

 _You are_ _so_ _not getting away!_ Joe dove back into Frank's car and started the engine. He shoved it into gear and took off in pursuit of the man – he was sure it was a man – who had been watching the house. _I know that this is definitely involved with the violin theft, and you, bozo, are not getting away!_

Following as closely as he dared, Joe found himself on a circuitous route through the back streets of the town – and then they were on a main thoroughfare, and shortly after that, the guy got on one of the highways – and really poured on some speed!

 _I hope this little thing has some speed of its own!_ Joe thought, depressing the gas pedal. He was gratified to find out that the Saturn responded well, keeping up easily with the fleeing gray car. _Come on, baby! Show me your stuff!_

Steering with one hand, Joe managed to get his cell phone out of his pocket, and hit the speed-dial for Frank. When his brother answered…

"Hey, it's me. I'm in pursuit!" Joe announced gleefully.

"You're what?" Frank's voice crackled through the phone. "Pursuit! Who are you chasing, and what are you trying to do to my car? And why are you talking on the phone while you're driving?"

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt your car!" Joe quickly explained that he was chasing someone who had been parked outside Allison's home, watching the place through binoculars. "You're gonna have to walk to Allison's place. Do you remember how to get there?"

Frank sighed. "Yes, I can get there," he said patiently, refraining from telling Joe he was already on his way. "Try not to get lost, okay?"

"Cool – catch you later! And I won't get lost!" Joe clicked the phone off and turned his attention to the chase once again. He realized that whoever was in the car must know that it was being followed, but…. _Maybe I can trail this guy back to where he came from, if I work it right!_ He was suddenly very glad that Frank's Saturn was dark and blended into the surrounding traffic as well as it did, and there were so many similar cars on the road. Unlike Joe's own vehicle, the distinctive blue-and-black Aztek, which, he had to admit, would stand out like a sore thumb in any kind of surveillance duty.

He eased off on the accelerator slightly, and allowed first one car, then a second, to get between him and the fleeing gray Audi Quattro. It was easy to pick out, though, and Joe was fairly sure that he wouldn't lose sight of it, as long as no semis or motor homes got in the way.

After some time, the Audi took an exit ramp, as did the car immediately behind it. Joe followed suit, still keeping an eagle eye on his quarry while trying to avoid getting in a wreck with Frank's new car. The ramp went into suburbs which quickly led to a long back road – one which took him nearly to the beaches of Long Island, and then into another of the many, many towns between New York City and Bayport. The cars between them changed during the drive, some turning off, others taking their places, but Joe had managed to stay far enough back that he felt fairly secure in his obscurity. The guy didn't appear to realize that he was being followed.

At long last, the gray Audi stopped – outside the gates of what appeared to be a walled estate, complete with mansion. After a moment, the gates swung open, apparently responding to a remote switch, and the car pulled through. The gates closed behind it. Joe, who had halted along the roadway, could only stare at this unexpected development. _A mansion? What in the world are they doing at a mansion?!_

With a deep sigh, Joe reached again for his cell phone. There wasn't any use in trying to get into this place and snoop around in broad daylight – that would be sheer insanity. He was impulsive, but not insane – so he might as well check in with Frank.

"You want your car back?" he asked, when Frank answered the call.

 _"Well, yeah, I want it back eventually,"_ Frank said. _"Where are you?"_

"Um – well…I think it's maybe in Hill Point. But then again, it might be South Point. Or Hillside. Wherever it is, it's pretty. I'm outside a really nice gated estate with a really big house inside the walls."

 _"Joe!"_

"Hey, I was paying more attention to following this guy than I was looking at road signs, okay?" Joe said defensively.

Frank rolled his eyes. Even though Joe couldn't see it, he just knew Frank was doing it. _"You idiot, that's dangerous. What if you get lost, trying to get home?"_

"I promise to ask for directions – Mom – if I get lost getting home," Joe chuckled. "Aren't you even going to congratulate me on tailing this bozo back to his lair?"

 _"Joe, I'm serious. I don't like not knowing where you are! What if something happens?"_

"You're sounding more like Mom – no, you're sounding more like Aunt Gertrude! – every minute, bro. Should I plan on giving you a nice dress for your next Christmas present?"

Frank laughed sheepishly. _"All right, okay, I won't worry." At least not out loud. "And yes, I'm glad you managed to follow the guy all that way."_

"I'm going to hang here and wait for it to get dark enough to get inside," Joe told him. "So I hope you're not in any hurry to have me back."

 _"Keep out of sight while you're waiting, huh? And I warn you, if you don't come back when you're supposed to, I am going to KILL YOU!"_

"I'll be back. Later, bro." Joe clicked off his phone and proceeded to drive on down the road, noting the location more carefully as he did so. He needed to kill time, get some lunch, and – after glancing at the dashboard dials – fill up the gas tank!

Gas tank and stomach filled, and a couple of magazines read, cover to cover. Joe was nearly bored to death. He hated stakeouts with a passion, but knew he'd gotten himself into this one all by himself, so he couldn't complain. Finally the afternoon sun was going down, and soft evening shadows were lengthening under the massive trees lining the streets. Joe stretched and yawned, feeling slightly stiff from his enforced confinement in the Saturn's seats all afternoon. He had parked some distance away from the estate, but now he moved the car as close as he dared, parked it, and climbed out, ready to survey the premises.

First, there was the wall. Joe studied it carefully. Looked at it closely. _It's about ten feet tall,_ he mused. _Made of – at least on this side – brick. Thick, dark red brick. Spikes on top – whoever lives here must have a liking for fortresses and a dislike of visitors!_ He kept walking, his blue eyes scanning for details. When he came to the gate, he stopped and went over it carefully, inch by inch. _Metal – old-fashioned metal, and old in years as well as fashion._ _Doesn't look wired for an alarm, but there_ _is_ _a remote control to open it, so don't dare risk setting something off._ Tentatively, Joe shook the bars, but old or not, they were sturdy and solid. _Nope, that's not going to work!_

Joe kept walking, moving along the side of the wall, checking for any sign of weakness, any point of possible entry. At last he reached a spot where massive tree limbs hung down over the brickwork, and he knew he'd found his goal. This would help keep him hidden from anyone who might happen to look out of the windows.

 _First, up onto the wall…._ Joe stepped back a pace or two, then lunged and leaped upwards, grabbing for the spikes on top. The first few times, he couldn't get a good enough grip to gain leverage, but on the fourth try, he clung tightly to the spikes and scrabbled with his sneaker-clad feet for purchase on the bricks. From there, it was a simple task to pull himself up. Once he had his elbows on the top of the wall, he managed to wriggle in between the spikes and eventually gained a sitting position. Carefully, he got to his feet, ducking to avoid being beaned by a tree branch, and stepped cautiously around and over the spikes. A long step took him to a convenient branch, and a few seconds later, Joe slithered to the soft grass beneath the tall maple.

 _I'm in! Let's hear it for me!_ he exulted silently. He couldn't believe his luck so far. There were no indications of guards, watchdogs, or anything else that might foil his attempts. And the spacious yard was tailor-made for sneaking, he concluded, making his cautious way across the grass. _Tree…to tree…to big, fat, flowery shrub…to tree…to little bush...ouch!_ He stumbled a couple of times, caught by an unexpected little planting or unevenness in the turf, but managed to land without making too much noise. At long last he snuggled into the shadowy protection of the plantings along the back of the house.

Mentally blessing Vanessa for her timely graduation gift, Joe pulled his new distance-recorder from his jacket pocket and turned it on. Silently, he aimed the directional mike towards the house and waited, anticipating he knew not what.

At first, he was disappointed. Sounds emanated from the tiny speaker, but they were fuzzy and indistinct _. Come on, come on, somebody's there –_ _say_ _something!_ Joe urged, silently. He was rewarded at last with the sounds of voices, but they were low and indistinct, with considerable static interference. Joe ground his teeth in frustration as he listened.

 _I've got to get up higher_ , he concluded, noting that lights showed in the upper-story windows, and they looked to be open to the warm night. He began looking around for the best way to accomplish this feat. To his delight, a tall, slender tree grew nearby, with branches that looked sturdy enough to hold his weight. It was surrounded by a circular planting of flowers – Joe wasn't sure what kind they were, but found that they squashed nicely when he approached the tree. Moving as silently as a wraith, Joe pocketed his recorder and essayed another climb. To his dismay, he found that this particular tree had _thorns_ , and by the time he reached the desired height, he was scratched, poked and punctured enough that he felt like a pincushion!

Once settled on a branch, Joe tried the recorder again, and this time had better results. The sounds of two voices engaged in conversation came to his ears – two male voices, one sounding elderly, the other much younger. _Not a little kid,_ Joe noted _, but not middle-aged, either. Someone about my age, maybe_. The conversation, however, disappointed him. It was casual, no mention of anything important, and certainly no mention of a stolen violin or Allison Lewis! Joe kept recording anyway, hoping against hope that something might yet be mentioned to incriminate these people, whoever they were!

Disaster struck without warning.

Joe shifted slightly on the branch, trying to get more comfortable on his perch – and with an unexpected, resounding _CRACK!_ the limb broke loose from the tree, sending Joe plunging towards the ground! Falling through the branches, he flailed wildly for handholds, but the spiny twigs eluded his grasp while inflicting more scratches.

His body impacted first, knocking the breath from his lungs – and then his head struck something hard, and Joe Hardy's world went immediately black.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013 for the kind commentary. You make it seem like a much better story than it really is.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 13

Frank Hardy had not expected to have to walk from Rodney Lewis' home to Allison's, but after receiving Joe's 'I'm in pursuit!' phone call, he decided that a six-block walk wouldn't kill him. Unfortunately, he hadn't reckoned on getting lost!

 _I'm not lost!_ He kept repeating the words, reassuring himself with the litany. In truth, he wasn't lost…exactly. He knew where he was – he just didn't know quite how to get from where he was to Allison Lewis' parents' house. The directions he had received from the gas station attendant had been clear enough, but he was now getting the feeling that those directions were slightly out of date. They might have been straightforward once upon a time, when all the streets were straight and intersected at nice, 90-degree, four-way stops. Now, however, subdivisions had encroached on the older neighborhoods, and a multitude of Circles, Drives, Loops, and Ways wound their way through the area with maddening results.

 _I want Knightsbridge Road,_ Frank told himself, looking at the address. _Knightsbridge Road. It's supposed to intersect with 152_ _nd_ _Street_. _Which comes off of Wyndham. I saw Wyndham. I saw 152_ _nd_ _. So where did all_ _this_ _come from?_ He gazed at his surroundings with dismay. Knightsbridge Road might be there, but it was hidden in a myriad of other streets. He was standing on Knightsbridge Loop…but instead of turning into Knightsbridge Road, as expected, it had evolved into Stonehenge Court, which in turn intersected Knights Way, which meandered about and eventually turned into Camelot Loop and Camelot Drive and Camelot Circle.

 _I suppose I could call Joe and ask him…._ But Frank dismissed this notion as soon as it surfaced. Possessed of as much stubborn pride as his younger brother, he would spend the rest of the afternoon wandering this place, rather than admit to Joe – whom he had lectured on becoming lost – that he, himself had let himself get thoroughly turned around. _I'd never live it down._ _All right, Hardy, work this out logically. Knightsbridge Road has to be here_ _someplace_ _!_

Fortunately, before he could become completely frustrated, Frank found the street he sought, and thankfully trotted up the driveway of the beautiful, sprawling home of Darren and Julie Lewis. As he approached, Frank mentally compared it to the other Lewis home, where Rodney and his parents lived. _It's almost a complete antithesis,_ he mused. Where the former house had been old, this was modern but homey, two stories with a split third story on top. Both edifices were alike in that they were immaculately clean and well-kept, though. The walk from the street to the front porch was lined with white latticework fencing which was twined with fragrant flowers in full bloom – sweet peas, Frank thought they were. The porch was clean and tidy, and held a bench on one side, and an inviting-looking porch swing on the other. Potted plants adorned the steps and some tree roses in large planter containers looked ready to burst into bloom in the warm June sunlight.

Frank pressed the doorbell, hearing a melodic cascade of chimes in response. Almost before the sound had died away, the door was opened – by Phil Cohen!

"Frank!?" Phil looked very surprised. "I was expecting Joe!" He motioned his friend into the house. "He left in a hurry, chasing someone—"

"I know, I know," Frank interposed. "He called me." He looked over Phil's shoulder as Allison came into the entry hall. "Hi, Allison. Uh…sorry to just barge in, but I guess I'm sort of stranded here until Joe gets back."

"It's okay, Frank; it's fine. We have plenty of room!" Allison smiled. "You're very welcome here."

She and Phil escorted Frank into the living room, which overlooked the street, and the three made themselves comfortable in the plushy overstuffed chairs. Then, Frank scowled at Phil with mock ferocity.

"Okay, I want to hear the excuses you're going to come up with, Cohen!"

Phil looked at his friend sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Frank. Looking back, I know it was stupid, but I was sort of shook up." He sighed. "Joe called me a fuzz-brain!" he complained, aggrieved, and Frank burst into laughter. For highly intelligent Phil Cohen, that was an insult of the highest order.

"Serves you right. You were a fuzz-brain. Now, let's hear all of it."

"Well, to begin with, Allison and I both went home late Friday night, after the concert. After we'd reported the theft of the violin to the police, I mean. We did that right after you guys left for Bayport. The next morning, I had an early, split shift. I worked from 7 to 10, and then again from 12 to 3.

"Saturday morning," Frank nodded his understanding. This was the same thing Brad Turnbuckle had told him, but it was nice to hear Phil confirm it.

"Right. I'd talked to Joe earlier, and then during my off time, I met Alli for a late breakfast. When I got back to my apartment after that, I found that someone had been there, and that creepy picture with the knife was stuck on the wall. I thought it was blood at first, it nearly gave me heart failure!" Phil shivered. "And you know, I don't even know where that picture came from! It wasn't mine – I never saw it before! It's…weird." He shook his head, dismissively. "And then I found a really nasty message left on the telephone answering machine, warning me that if I looked for the violin, or let anyone else get involved searching for it, Allison would be killed!" He looked apologetically at Frank. "That's why I did what I did, calling Joe and telling you guys to back off. I got spooked, especially after I heard Alli's story! I didn't want anything to happen to her!"

"I know, I understand," Frank reassured him. "Go on, what did you do then?"

"I called him at work." Allison took up the story. "I'd gotten my own threat, also on my answering machine. It was essentially the same thing – don't pursue the violin, or you'll be killed. Not only was I afraid for me, I was afraid for Phil – and you and Joe!"

Frank nodded again. Whoever had done this was thorough and savvy, working all the angles to make sure everyone involved was frightened away.

"I tried to get the number off my Caller ID," Allison continued, causing Frank to give her an approving grin and a nod of approbation, "but it turned out to be a pay phone in downtown Manhattan. So when I talked to Phil, and heard what had happened in his apartment, we decided to get out of town and come here, to my parents' house. I thought no one would be able to find us here." She smiled a little. "I didn't count on the tenacity of the Hardy brothers!"

"I called Joe, and we left as soon as I finished up work. I'm sorry I didn't answer all those messages you guys left on my cell phone," Phil apologized. "I just didn't want to give either of you the chance to talk me into changing my mind. I should have known that you'd just come anyway – and that you'd look until you found me!"

"Yes, you should," Frank said in a reproving tone, although a grin was breaking through his attempt at solemnity. "Jeez, Phil, you know us better than that!"

"Yeah, yeah—" Phil ducked his head, chagrined but chuckling.

"We talked to your roommate, Matt – he was the one who helped us find you."

"Matt? That's how you tracked us down?" Phil guffawed. "Isn't he something? Good guy, though!"

"He was a lot of help. He was the one who remembered that you sometimes visited Allison's parents, and where they lived – and that Allison's cousin Rodney lives close by." _Well, sort of close,_ Frank thought to himself, _if you don't get all turned around!_ "I went to talk to Rodney before I came here—"

"You talked to Rodney?" Allison was grinning now. "He's a piece of work, that's for sure – but he's mostly harmless."

"I'm not so sure how harmless he is," Frank said somberly. "He insists he doesn't have your violin, and doesn't know anything about where it is – but he's sure glad you don't have it any more! What's his financial situation, Allison, do you know?"

The girl shrugged. "Their family has some money. Uncle Collin – that's Rodney's father – is a surgeon. They aren't overwhelmingly wealthy, but they're considered upper-class by some people, certainly. Rodney shouldn't be hurting for money; his dad doesn't seem to mind supporting him, and he lives at home."

"According to what a police officer friend of mine discovered, Rodney is something like $40,000 in debt," Frank informed them.

Allison looked shocked. "$40,000! That's unbelievable! I can't imagine what Rodney would be doing, owing that kind of money! Uncle Collin is always generous enough about giving him whatever he needs…pretty much whatever he wants!"

Frank frowned as he thought that over. _Gambling? Drugs? Rodney didn't look like he's a user….Nightclub scene? Wine, women and song? Nah, doesn't look like the type. Hmmm, wonder what Rodney's doing with all that money?_

Frank's ponderings were interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. "Hello? Joe! You still chasing people? How's my car?"

" _I'm not chasing anyone now. You want your car back, huh?"_

"I want it back eventually, yes. Where are you?"

Joe explained that he was somewhere in the vicinity of Hill Point – he thought – and had trailed the mysterious watcher to a mansion in the area. He also explained that he needed to stay there, to wait for darkness to cover his sleuthing expedition into the estate grounds. After exchanging wisecracks with his anxious brother, Joe disconnected the call, assuring Frank that he'd be fine.

Frank felt disquieted despite Joe's assurances that he'd be careful, he wouldn't get lost, he'd be just fine. He really did _not_ like not knowing exactly where Joe was. Things could happen fast, especially when his younger brother was involved, and the uncertainty of how to quickly find Joe bothered Frank. He hoped Joe would continue to check in frequently – even while admitting that he would consider it 'mother-henning' on Frank's part. He decided to try a new avenue of investigation while he waited.

He turned to Allison. "Could I ask you a few questions about your great-grandfather and the quintet he was in? Do you know anything about it?"

"Yes, I know a little," Allison nodded. "My great-grandfather used to tell me stories about those days, before he died – when I was tiny. I loved hearing them, he was a good story-teller, and made it all sound so fascinating! They played all over Europe, and even went to Asia once, and played in Japan and China and India!" Her green eyes sparkled with delight. "I'd love to do that!"

"You'll probably get to," Phil quietly observed, and Allison smiled at him gratefully.

"Do you know anything about the other men who were part of the quintet?" Frank asked. "What happened to them, who they were?"

"A little," Allison replied. "I know that three of them have passed on already, my great-grandfather being one of those. The man who played the cello – Lesimik, his name was – died recently, maybe three or four months ago. My grandfather mentioned it to me. The other two…let's see, I believe one still lives in Austria. The other one – I think he lives somewhere on the East coast, but I don't know where, not exactly."

"Where are you heading with all this, Frank?" Phil asked curiously.

"I'm not sure," Frank admitted. "I was just wondering what happened to the other four prize instruments. Were they all passed down to descendants, or did something happen to them, too? Might they have been stolen like yours, Allison?"

Allison shrugged eloquently. "I have no idea. I was never interested enough to ask, and my grandfather never mentioned it." She pursed her lips in thought. "I suppose if something like that had happened, and he knew about it, he'd have said something. It would make a good story!"

Phil glanced at his watch. "I hate to interrupt this discussion, but it's nearly three o'clock and I'm staaaarving! Alli, can't we make some lunch?" he asked plaintively. Frank gave him a startled glance; Phil had sounded eerily like Joe just then!

She laughed and got to her feet. "Yes, we can make some lunch. Are tuna fish sandwiches okay with both of you?" She glanced from one boy to the other, and received nods from each. "Fine, come along and help; it will go faster."

Tuna fish sandwiches, potato chips, and cut-up apples and oranges constituted lunch, along with soft drinks and bottled iced tea. All three teens ate hungrily, but by the time they were finished, Frank found himself getting antsy again, about not having his car, and not knowing exactly where Joe was. Trying to ignore the uneasiness in his gut, he requested the use of a computer, and accessed maps of the area, attempting to locate Joe's whereabouts in that way. _A large mansion near Hill Point. Or South Point. Or Hillside._ Sighing with frustration, Frank gave up his search. He was still impatient and uneasy, jittery with nerves. He knew that Joe wouldn't even go near the mansion until it was dark, and his brother was savvy enough to stay out of sight until then, even if he did despise stakeouts and surveillance duty. _I'm probably driving Phil and Allison nuts, too!_ Frank exited out of the maps site and turned away from the computer.

"Frank—" It was Phil, standing there with a very understanding expression on his thin face. "Would you like to go out and try to find where Joe is?"

Frank's look combined gratitude and embarrassment. "Thanks, Phil," he muttered, "but no. It's okay. If I was really nervous, I'd just call Joe back and tell him to call off the whole deal. I'm sure he's fine. I'm sorry…I know I'm acting weird. I just need to do something!"

At that moment, there was a crashing, splintering noise. Something broke through the wide living room window, sending glass fragments flying everywhere!


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013 for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 14

Frank had a fleeting glimpse of Phil diving towards Allison and flattening his girlfriend onto the floor, and then the elder Hardy was diving in the same direction, attempting to shield his face from the blasting glass. He grimaced as he felt needle-pricks of glass lacing into his arms, but there weren't too many; evidently the glass was the 'safety' sort that shattered into tiny, dull-edged pieces, rather than lethal shards.

Frank stayed flat and kept his head down and covered with his arms, until the window was done breaking apart and all was silent again. When he was convinced the immediate danger was past, he raised his head and got to all fours. He crawled over to the window to peer outside, brushing aside the glass chunks as he went, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. No cars, no people running away – nothing.

"You okay, Frank?" Phil was levering himself off Allison. He crouched and duck-walked over to Frank, crunching over the glass. "What happened, anyway?"

"Something was thrown through the window," Frank replied. "Yeah, I'm all right. How about you two?"

"I've found the 'something,' " Allison said. She had risen to her knees and was looking about her. Now she pointed at an object lying on the floor. It was a brick, with a piece of paper rubber-banded to it. "And yes, I'm fine. But oh, our window!" She got to her feet shakily, staring aghast at the empty frame.

Frank stood up and gingerly walked across the glass-covered carpeting to where the brick lay. He picked it up and slid the note from beneath the elastic band, being careful not to put too many fingerprints on it. "Wow…."

Phil peered over his shoulder. "It looks like magazine letters cut out," he observed. "GO AWAY! GO HOME!" he read out loud.

"Is that addressed to me?" Allison asked. "I am home!" she protested, with a slightly hysterical giggle. "Does someone want me to go away?" The boys looked at her doubtfully, wondering how close she was to losing it completely.

"I suppose it could be to me," Phil conceded with a tight grin. "Is this your parents' subtle way of telling you to date someone else?" he quipped to Allison, who merely glared at him, rather than laughing.

"No – you both know it's probably meant for Joe and me," Frank said grimly. "You two stay inside," he directed Phil and Allison, who didn't argue. "I'm going to look around outside. You might want to think about getting out of here, though, at least temporarily." As he left, he saw Phil wrap his arm about the shaken Allison, urging her towards a chair on the side of the room opposite the shattered window.

Frank skirted the house, staying close to the building while attempting to see if there were any signs of the attacker. Although he looked closely, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"Young man! Hello!" An elderly man and woman were standing on the sidewalk across the street, waving to get Frank's attention. He walked over to talk to them.

"What happened?" the man asked. "We heard a crash, and when we looked out, saw that the Lewis' window was broken! Is everyone all right over there?"

"Yes," Frank replied. "Allison and another friend and I are the only ones there right now, and we're all okay."

"Dreadful!" his wife cried. "Poor little Allison must be frightened half out of her wits! What happened?"

"Someone threw a brick through the window," Frank explained. "You didn't, by any chance, see anything – anyone running away, anything like that?"

"No, we weren't in the front of the house when it happened," the elderly gentleman replied. "We just came out after we heard the noise. Earlier, though, we saw a boy come running out of the Lewis' house, chasing after someone who was parked in the street. He took after them in a car."

Frank recognized this event as Joe beginning his pursuit. "Nothing else?" he persisted.

"No, not a thing," the woman assured him. "There's never any crime on this street – at least, there never has been. It's dreadfully upsetting that this has happened! Vandalism – tsk, tsk, tsk!" She shook her head dolefully.

"We called the police," her husband added. "They should be here in a few minutes."

Frank wasn't sure he was pleased by this news, but he realized it was the natural thing to do: if someone was going around tossing bricks through windows, you called the police. "I think I'll see if anyone else noticed anything," he said, and moved to the next house, where a woman in her mid-thirties and two pre-teen girls were staring in fascination at the broken window.

 _No, nothing_ , was the answer. Disappointed, Frank re-crossed the street and joined Phil, who had come outside and was questioning the neighbors on that side. "Anything?"

"No," Phil shook his head. "No one seems to have seen anything at all. Everyone was doing something else – you know, watching TV, or reading, or whatever, when they heard the crash. By the time they got out here, whoever did it was long gone."

Frank checked his watch. It was still a couple of hours until Joe could check out the mansion, and now _he_ was going to be tied up answering questions and talking to the police about the attack. _This is not my day, not at all!_ "Let's go back inside," he suggested, but even as he and Phil did so, they heard the whine of sirens approaching. Soon a black-and-white patrol car whirred up, and two uniformed officers approached Allison's house and were admitted.

"Miss? I'm Sgt. Brian Donaldson," the tall, dark-skinned patrolman introduced himself. "This is my partner, Officer Albans." He indicated the thin, balding man accompanying him. "Can you tell us what happened?"

Allison faced them, attempting to appear calm and in control, but her voice was muted and shook when she spoke. "This is my parents' home," she stated, after giving her name. "They're away from home at the moment. I and my friends were spending the day here. A few minutes ago, someone threw a brick through the front window; a brick with a note attached to it."

She pointed to the brick, which Frank had set on the table, and the note lying beside it.

"Plain white paper, letters cut from a magazine probably, and stuck on with rubber cement…" Donaldson noted after examining the note, as Officer Albans produced a plastic bag and carefully slipped the note into it. "Any idea why someone would do something like this? Who's supposed to go away?"

"M-my violin – I play with the New York City Junior Symphony – my violin was s-stolen, Friday night," Allison responded. "S-someone doesn't want me to find it." She gulped and attempted to steady her quivering voice. "We reported the theft to the New York police, but so far no one has been able to locate it. It's a Stradivarius – it's very valuable. It belonged to my great-grandfather. We – someone's been – been threatening…" She broke off, shivering. It was quite obvious that she was very upset, and becoming more so, the longer she had to talk.

Frank stepped forward, nodding to Phil. "Go on," he whispered to his friend, "take her away and try to calm her down." He turned to the police officers. "Sergeant Donaldson, I can tell you anything else you need to know, I think."

"You can, eh?" Sgt. Donaldson eyed him skeptically, but seemed willing enough to listen. "Okay, let's hear what you have to say." He glanced at Allison and nodded his permission to Phil to remove her from the discussion. "Miss Lewis, it's okay, just relax."

Frank related the story, only leaving out Joe's activities in chasing someone who had been watching the house. He explained about the theft of the violin outside the restaurant, and the subsequent chase and recovery. He recounted Robert's strange actions at Phil's apartment, and he went into careful detail over the disappearance of Allison's violin after the concert, including the mysterious cuff link found near the back door. He mentioned Rodney's attempts to gain possession of the instrument and the threatening messages Phil and Allison had received. He finished by saying that he didn't know what – if anything – the NYPD had come up with on the theft.

Sergeant Donaldson had listened with care, and Officer Albans had taken meticulous notes throughout Frank's recital. Now the sergeant had some questions.

"What's your name, and how do you figure in this? What's your interest?"

Frank shrugged, smiling a little. "Phil and I grew up together," he said, "and Allison is his girlfriend. My brother and I were at her concert on Friday night, when the instrument disappeared. Sometimes we do detective work on our own – investigations…."

"Your name?" Donaldson asked again.

"Frank Hardy."

The familiar look Frank had seen so many times before came into the officer's eyes. "Any relation of Fenton Hardy, the detective?"

 _We might as well have cards printed with it,_ Frank thought ruefully. _They can say 'Frank Hardy' or 'Joe Hardy, son of Fenton Hardy'! It would save time!_ Aloud, he replied, "yes, he's my father."

Donaldson nodded in understanding. "Okay, then I can see how you got involved. Comes naturally, huh?" He grinned, and Frank nodded, appreciative of the understanding. "Still, Frank, even so, I have to warn you off this now. It's started getting dangerous, with bricks flying through windows – and we don't want civilians getting hurt! So let the police do the detective work now."

 _Fat chance!_ But Frank kept his expression neutral, and only said "I can see your point, Sgt. Donaldson," in a noncommittal tone.

"This is already getting tricky, with the NYPD involved and now this in our jurisdiction," Officer Albans commented, shutting his notebook.

"Well, we'll give 'em a call and see what we can find out," Donaldson grunted.

When the officers had departed, Phil set about making phone calls to glass-repair places. On a late Sunday afternoon, finding someone to replace the window immediately was impossible, but at last he managed to locate someone who would at least come out and do a temporary patch job. While this was going on, Allison had begun an attempt at cleaning up the mess. She fetched a broom and dustpan to sweep up the glass fragments, and then the vacuum cleaner, sniffling occasionally when she found the remains of small decorative items which had also met their demise.

"My mother's had these for years," she confided to the boys, exhibiting some now-headless little figurines. "She's going to be broken-hearted over this!"

For a time, Frank assisted with the clean-up project. When the air in the living room began to grow cooler, he realized with a start that it was getting dark outside, and Joe's mission to infiltrate the mysterious mansion might be underway. By the time the repairman had finished boarding up the window and departed, and still nothing had been heard from Joe, Frank's nerves were becoming more and more jangled.

"Frank," Phil laid a hand on his shoulder in attempted reassurance. "You have to give Joe time to actually look, remember? He has to get in, or at least close, and then he might have to stay concealed…"

"I know, I know." Frank nodded, but his tension was apparent to both Phil and Allison.

Time passed, and the phone didn't ring. More time passed, and Frank began to pace nervously. At last, the young detective came to an abrupt decision.

"Phil, can we take your car and drive around to look?" he asked.

"I don't want to leave Alli alone…" Phil hesitated.

"I'll be fine," Allison assured them. "I'll just run across the street and stay with Mr. and Mrs. Burgess until you get back. Don't worry about me, Phil."

"Okay – in that case, let's go," Phil capitulated. He hugged Allison goodbye, and the two boys set out in his car.

Frank noted with relief that Phil's driving had settled down, now that he was away from the stresses of Manhattan traffic. He still drove rapidly, but gone were the abrupt lane changes and accelerations and decelerations. They headed for the road which Frank recalled Joe saying he thought he'd been on. Phil and Frank peered down each street as they passed it, hoping to spot the Saturn.

When his cell phone rang, breaking the tense silence, Frank jumped. He snatched it out.

"Joe?"

" _No, it's me, your mother,"_ came Laura's voice. _"Frank – honey, something's happened to Joe. Some people found him unconscious in your car. He's apparently been hurt pretty badly."_

"WHAT?"

"Frank? You're the closest. Can you get to him right away? I'm trying to get hold of your father, too."

Frank's felt his heart sink right into his knees.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013 for the reviewing. It is much appreciated.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 15

"Mom?" Frank's voice trembled, and he had to clear his throat a couple of times before he could make himself heard. "Where is he? D-directions?"

Laura told him, and Frank conscientiously wrote them down. He knew his mother was trying her best to be strong and concise, but he could hear the quaver in her voice as she spoke.

"We'll get there right away, Mom – I'm with Phil, in his car. I'll be there just as quick as I can. And I'll try to have him transported to Bayport General, if it's safe for him."

"Call – as soon as you know anything, honey, please. Call me," Mrs. Hardy pleaded softly.

"I will. I promise." Frank flipped his phone shut and turned to the anxiously-listening Phil. "Joe's been hurt – someone found him in my car. Here – here's where he is."

His hand shaking despite all his best intentions, Frank held out the scribbled directions to Phil, who grabbed them, took a quick glance, and shoved the accelerator towards the floorboards. Frank felt himself pushed back by gravitational forces as Phil's car shot forward, but only wished they could go faster still. He no longer was worried about Phil's erratic driving habits.

"Did your mom say whether the car was damaged?" Phil asked, momentarily slowing for a turn.

"No." Frank could barely get the reply out, his throat felt so constricted. "How could he have had an accident with the car, Phil? He wasn't driving anywhere!" Stricken, he buried his face in his hands.

Soon, but not soon enough for Frank, they reached their destination – the back parking lot of a back street gas station. Flashing lights of an ambulance and a police cruiser made the scene garish with color. Frank was releasing his seat belt and opening the car door almost before Phil had come to a full stop, and he sprinted across the asphalt to where he could see the paramedics working over a still form on a stretcher.

"Hey, kid, stay back!" one of the medics warned, as Frank hurtled into their midst. "You don't have any business here, this is an emergency site!"

"That's my brother!" Frank gasped. "This is my car, that's my younger brother, Joe!" He caught his breath and continued. "I was at a friend's house – in the area – when my mom called me and said she'd been notified…that someone had found him…."

He crouched beside the stretcher, and now the medics did not try to hinder or dissuade him, although they did not stop what they were doing.

 _Oh, Joe…._ Fear coursed through Frank as he looked down at his younger brother. So still and pale, but he was scraped and scratched and gouged; there were spots on his face where the skin was rubbed raw. His forehead had been cut, he'd been bleeding, but it had stopped, and Frank saw a good-sized lump was swelling into existence. _What happened? Who did this to you?_

"Hang on, Frank." The elder Hardy felt a hand on his shoulder, and he realized that Phil was standing behind him. "Joe will be all right; he's like a cat with nine lives. He's been hurt before and came out okay; he'll be okay this time too."

 _But how many of those nine lives has he used up?_ Shivering beneath Phil's comforting hand, Frank sought reassurance from the EMTs. "What's his condition? What are his injuries?" he demanded.

Before he could receive a satisfactory answer, he was interrupted by the presence of a police officer who wanted to talk to him. The paramedics shooed them both away from Joe's side. Phil stepped back too.

Trying to keep at least one eye on what was going on with his brother, Frank told the story: that Joe had been trailing someone who they suspected of taking a violin belonging to a friend, and had, as far as Frank knew, followed this suspect to a large house somewhere in the area. What had happened after that, he didn't know.

"There are dozens of big houses in the area, son, maybe upwards of 50 or so." The policeman, a husky man with thinning dark hair and blue eyes looked sympathetic, but his voice was brisk. "This is Long Island, after all. And your brother shouldn't have been sticking his nose into police business, chasing after people, you know…you should leave things like that to professionals—"

Frank barely heard the words; his attention was riveted on Joe, on that quiet figure lying on the lowered stretcher. _I should have gone with him – he was right, we should have stayed together. All that crap about saving time, that I told him…he was right after all. There wasn't any hurry…we could have…._

"According to the gas station attendant who found him, there's no sign that your brother was in a car accident," the officer was continuing now, and Frank attempted to concentrate on what he was saying. "There's no damage to the car, and he was in the front passenger seat, not the driver's seat. It looks like someone drove him here and left him." After waiting for a response that he didn't receive, the man went on. "So, if I can have your name and address and telephone number, you can take the car, since it's fairly obvious that the crime – if there was a crime, that is! – didn't take place in it."

Frank gave him the required information, still keeping most of his attention on the medics and Joe. For once, 'Hardy' didn't trigger any special response, but Frank scarcely noticed the omission. He was focused on his brother. Joe…who wasn't responding to anything they did, wasn't coming to, wasn't opening those blue eyes and attempting to wisecrack with the ones ministering to him… _Joe, why aren't you waking up?_

"Mr. Hardy? We're ready to transport now." One of the EMTs approached Frank, interrupting his despairing thoughts.

"Where are you taking him? Can – could you take him to Bayport General?" Frank begged. "That's our home town; he'd be with doctors that know him; his medical records are there; it's fairly close—"

The medics exchanged glances and nodded in unison. "Bayport's as near as anywhere else, and it's got a good trauma unit," one of them said. "That's what he needs; he's taken quite a knock on the head. Sure, we'll radio in that we're going there."

"I'll follow in my car," Frank said. "Phil – what about you?" he asked, turning to his friend, who had been standing and waiting patiently throughout all this.

"I'm going to go back to Allison's and tell her what happened," Phil replied, squeezing Frank's arm in reassurance. "You'll keep me informed, right?" He looked at Frank doubtfully. "You're okay to drive, aren't you?"

"Yes – yes, of course," Frank's answer was distracted as he slid into the driver's seat of the Saturn. "I'll call you…when we know anything."

The ambulance pulled onto the street, and Frank followed, sticking as close as if the Saturn was glued to the vehicle's back bumper. While they were still maneuvering at low speeds through the residential streets, Frank dialed his home number to talk to his mother. He told Laura that Joe was still unconscious, apparently having received a head injury, and that he was being transported to Bayport General Hospital. She responded that she had located their father – should they try to meet Frank somewhere along the way, or…?

"Mom, just go there and meet us," Frank told her. "They're already on the way." He glanced to the side, flipping on his turn signal as they prepared to merge onto the expressway.

When the call ended, Frank settled down to following the whirling lights in front of him. He was no longer thinking – his mind was focused on those lights, and the still figure inside the ambulance, with a bare minimum of attention paid to steering the car and avoiding others . _Hang on, Joe…you can do it, just hang in there, little brother!_

Frank felt numb inside with worry and apprehension. _Joe looked so pale – and he should have come to, long before now. Extended unconsciousness – not a good sign at all!_ Absently, Frank registered their arrival in Bayport, but he didn't recall driving there. He swung through the familiar streets, the Saturn seemingly attached to the ambulance ahead by invisible tethers.

###

When the ambulance stopped at the emergency entrance, Frank headed into the general lot and parked his car. Flinging himself out of the vehicle, he ran inside the building and headed for the emergency room. The first thing he saw when he got there was his father, standing beside the information desk.

"Dad!"

Fenton turned and held out his arms to his elder son. "Frank!" He hugged Frank tightly for a long moment. "They just brought Joe in – took him into an examination room immediately."

Frank nodded tensely. "I was right behind the ambulance."

"Frank—" It was Laura, coming from the waiting area, looking worried, but trying to smile at him. "I'm so glad you were there with him."

 _But I wasn't! I wasn't with him…if I'd been with him, this wouldn't have happened!_ Frank seethed with guilt inside. "Mom, I…"

"Let's go sit down," Fenton urged his wife and son, "and I'd like to hear what's happened." He guided Laura back towards the waiting room, and Frank followed. Once they were seated, Fenton gave him an encouraging smile. "Okay, shoot."

In a numb, barely audible voice, Frank related what all had gone on that day – the message at Phil's, the search for him and Allison, the visit to Rodney, Joe's pursuit of the car with the binocular-wielding occupant, the brick through the window….

"I should have gone with Joe," Frank muttered, "or told him not to follow the guy without me – but I didn't. I didn't! Why didn't I?" He raised anguished brown eyes to his father. "Dad, it's my fault he's hurt!"

"No—" Fenton shook his head decisively at this. "It's not your fault at all, Frank, so stop blaming yourself. You and Joe work separately lots of times, and this was a time that immediate action was called for. If you'd told Joe that, and he'd listened to you, and waited, he'd have lost track of the car. You know he wouldn't have agreed to do that."

"But if we'd stayed together, gone to Rodney's together and then to Allison's—" Frank persisted. "That's what he wanted to do…."

"Perhaps – but that's hindsight, and you had no way of knowing something like this was going to happen," Fenton reminded him.

Frank shook his head, unable to believe that this situation was not, in fact, his fault. He slumped down in his chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. He heard his parents talking quietly to each other, and overheard other conversations taking place in the waiting room, but his mind was becoming foggy. It wasn't all that late, and he desperately wanted to stay awake so that he could immediately hear any news on Joe's condition…but his stressed mind and body circumvented his intentions. Frank leaned his head back against the chair and let his eyes close….

"Frank—" _A soft voice, a gentle kiss on his cheek, and someone taking his hand…._ Frank blinked his eyes open and stared into a lovely, familiar face.

"Megan," he murmured.

"I didn't want to wake you, but you looked terribly uncomfortable," she said quietly, as he struggled to sit upright.

Frank looked at his watch, and saw that he'd been asleep for less than an hour. "When did you get here?"

"About twenty minutes ago. I came with Vanessa." Megan gestured, and Frank looked across the room where Vanessa was sitting next to Mrs. Hardy. "Phil called her about Joe, and she called me. What happened?"

Frank squeezed his eyes shut, guilt flooding his soul once again. "Joe's hurt and it's my fault!" He folded his arms tightly across his chest and stared down at his lap.

Megan gently brushed a strand of dark hair from his forehead, and then proceeded to stroke the back of Frank's head soothingly. "Why would it be your fault? Why do you feel so guilty? You didn't hurt him, I know that much!"

Frank shrugged. "I'm the older brother, remember?" he muttered bitterly. "I'm supposed to look out for Joe. We weren't together – if I'd been there – if we'd been together like Joe suggested – then Joe wouldn't have gotten hurt!"

She shook her head. "No. Absolutely not true. There's no way you could have known that anything was going to happen, unless you've suddenly become clairvoyant – and no way you could have prevented it. You did what seemed best at the time, and so did Joe."

"I should have done something…" Frank said miserably, keeping his gaze fixed on his lap.

Determinedly, she reached for his hand, tugging it loose from his folded arms and then grasping it tightly. "Frank, Joe's not your baby or your pet – or your puppet to control. He's his own person, and you can't dictate all his actions, and you can't always prevent things happening to him, no matter how hard you try. You didn't do anything to feel guilty over."

"She's right," a new voice broke in, and Vanessa walked across the waiting room and seated herself on Frank's other side. "None of this is your fault, Frank. I'm worried about Joe – horribly worried – but I certainly am not blaming you! it's not your fault." With a look that pleaded for his help and support, Vanessa reached out for Frank's free hand and clasped it in hers. He sighed and squeezed her hand, hard. He still was very upset and worried, but he _did_ feel slightly less guilty now.

###

Time went by, the seconds and minutes flicking away with relentless deliberation. Fenton paced, Laura flipped aimlessly through outdated magazines; Frank and the girls sat and held each others' hands and talked, as Frank quietly brought Vanessa and Megan up to date on what had transpired during the day. It kept them distracted for a while, at least.

When at long last someone called the name "Hardy" and Frank looked up, the first thing he noticed was that the expression on the physician's face did not look very encouraging. He rose to his feet, along with the others, and they grouped about the doctor, a short, balding man with reddish-sandy hair and blue eyes. The identification tag clipped to his lab coat read **Max Carrington, MD.**

The doctor cleared his throat and began his discourse. "We've determined that Joe has suffered a severe blow to the head that has caused, at the very least, a moderately severe concussion. From what we can tell by the abrasions and bruising pattern, it looks like he struck his head on something, rather than being struck with something, by the way." He smiled encouragingly at the little group – none of whom managed to return the smile. "We've done a CT scan on him, to determine brain activity – and it's normal." Relieved sighs followed his words, and Dr. Carrington smiled a little again, then sobered. "But there's some swelling, due to trauma, and unfortunately, he's still unconscious." He paused. "And that's surprising."

"What – what does – what do you mean?" Laura asked, into the silence.

"I mean that although we expected him to come around before now, he still is showing no signs of awakening," the physician said somberly. "At this point, all we can do is try to reduce the swelling and pressure…and wait."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013 for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By

EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 16

Frank awoke slowly, still feeling drained. He had had very little sleep the previous night, for he had stayed at the hospital until the early hours of the morning.

Despite the doctor's hopeful words that Joe could awaken at any time, Frank hadn't felt very encouraged, but he had remained in the waiting room for hours, hoping for the best and attempting, with Megan's help, to keep Vanessa's spirits up.

Vanessa had sat silently for the most part, staring despondently down at her lap and twisting the bulky class ring on her hand, or gazing at the golden heart locket Joe had given her barely 24 hours before. She had finally let them talk her into going home, around 2 a.m., but as she left, she pleaded to be called immediately if any change occurred in Joe's condition.

Fenton had insisted that Laura go home too, after Vanessa and Megan departed, and although she protested, eventually he had talked her down. Frank drove her home, each of them assuring the other that _surely_ Joe would be awake in the morning. Each of them whistling in the dark, clinging to any shred of hope.

"Mom, I'm going to find out who did this to Joe, you know," Frank heard himself announce, abruptly.

Laura had gazed at him in the dimness of the car, apprehension filling her eyes. "Frank, leave it to the police, can't you?"

"I'm sorry, Mom, but no – no, I can't. Not this time. The police don't know everything."

"You could tell them everything, couldn't you?"

"I could try," Frank admitted. "I could tell them everything I know, but I'm afraid I might forget something. Something vital – something I wouldn't remember until I see or hear something else that triggers it. The police wouldn't be able to do that."

Laura sighed. "If you can't leave it, Frank, at least be careful," she begged him, unable to hide her anxiety. "I don't need two children in the hospital!"

###

Remembering that conversation, Frank felt a pang of guilt sweep through him _. Joe and I….We don't_ _mean_ _to cause her worry!_ He had averted his eyes then, and he closed them now, trying to pretend that he hadn't seen the worry, didn't see her constant fears for a husband who held a dangerous occupation; didn't see her concern over her children, who insisted on following their father into that same hazardous occupation.

But he did see it, all too well. His mother was a strong woman – stronger than most people gave her credit for being – but Frank had no doubt that she wished heartily that both he and Joe had chosen something other than detective work for careers. Medicine, perhaps – or law. Not law _enforcement_ , though…just being an attorney. Computer programming. Business. Sports. Anything that didn't involve constant jeopardy and life-threatening situations!

Frank sighed and rubbed his burning eyes. He was so tired…but there was so much to do!

He gazed blearily at the bedside table clock. _Just after seven…._ He'd been awake an hour or so earlier, and had called his father at the hospital, hoping he could tell him something new about Joe. Fenton had sounded weary, but calm.

 _"No, there's no change. But that's good in a way, Frank; he's not developing any worrisome symptoms. He's just…not waking up."_

Gritting his teeth with determination, Frank shoved himself to a sitting position and swung his legs off the bed, staring across the room at the bathroom which connected his room and Joe's. _Just yesterday morning, Joe was standing there and yawning because he was so sleepy from his date with Vanessa….Who could have_ _done_ _this to him? I've got to get on the trail of whoever caused him to be hurt like this!_ Just thinking of his brother lying unconscious in the hospital made Frank furious.

Involuntarily, he clenched his hands into fists on the bedcovers, gripping the edge of the mattress until his fingers ached. He rode out the wave of anger, pulling in deep gulps of air to force himself to relax. _Get over it, Hardy! You aren't going to do Joe any good this way! You can't help him by going off half-cocked…THINK! That's what you always tell Joe to do, isn't it? Well, follow your own advice!_

He knew his exhaustion, both physical and mental, was contributing to that irrational anger; he was too tired to fight off the edge of fury which kept him from thinking straight. But today he was going to investigate, and investigate thoroughly. He'd had a few ideas the night before….

Of course, it was entirely possible that Joe's injuries were accidental – really, they didn't look like anything which had been inflicted by someone. But even if no one had _done_ anything to him, _someone_ had put him in the passenger seat of the Saturn and left him at the gas station, rather than getting him medical attention! There was no damage to the Saturn, so Joe hadn't been involved in a wreck. Perhaps he had been struck by a car? But if he had, surely his injuries would have been worse – wouldn't they? Frank didn't know, and couldn't guess.

Slowly, he got to his feet and shuffled into the bathroom, where he washed his face, brushed his teeth, combed his dark hair, sluggishly ran his razor over his cheeks. He stared gloomily into the mirror, realizing that what he desired most at the moment was to go back to bed and sleep…but _No! I can't. I have a mission, melodramatic as that sounds. I'm not going to give up until I solve this whole thing – what happened to Joe, who has the violin, all of it. It won't be as easy without Joe – or as much fun – but I'm going to do it anyway!_ Even as he vowed this, Frank knew with the rational part of his mind that it was probably not going to happen, but at least he'd give it his best shot.

Dressed in jeans and a clean polo shirt, Frank made his way downstairs. He was surprised to find both his Aunt Gertrude and his mother in the kitchen, evidently working on making breakfast. Gertrude had gone to bed by the time he and Laura arrived home, but surely she'd been filled in on everything which had happened, by now.

"Shouldn't you still be asleep?" he chided Laura, kissing her good morning. _She looks so tired,_ he thought _. So terribly tired. She can't have gotten any more sleep than I did, but it's not just a lack of sleep. She looks…defeated._ He wondered if the same look was mirrored in his own eyes.

She hugged him, but quickly returned her attention to the grapefruit she was sectioning, not meeting his gaze. "I couldn't sleep. Figured I might as well get up."

"Why don't you go back to bed for awhile?" Frank suggested, moving to hug his aunt before he sat down at the table. He took a sip of orange juice, and nodded his grateful thanks as Aunt Gertrude handed him a cup of coffee and indicated a basketful of muffins.

"That's what I've been saying!" Gertrude remarked with a sniff.

Laura shook her head. "I'm fine."

"Mom, you know Dad will call if there's any news," Frank cajoled. "And you'd feel better if you got some more rest."

"I can't," his mother replied. "I want to get back to the hospital. It's already after eight. I won't sleep anymore anyway."

"Laura, you could at least try!" Aunt Gertrude's voice was uncharacteristically gentle, and her ordinarily sharp gaze soft as she surveyed her sister-in-law. "You won't do anyone any good if you're too exhausted to hold your head up!"

"I'm not too exhausted, Gertrude, and I'm not going back to bed," Laura said with finality. "Frank, can you give me a ride there, when breakfast is done, or should I take my own car?"

"Sure, Mom, I'll take you. I want to see Joe, too." Frank heaved a sigh and focused on eating. Gertrude and Laura sat down too, although neither of them seemed to have much appetite.

"Poor Joe," Gertrude broke the silence at last. "You boys really should be more careful, you know."

"I know, Aunty. We do try, though," Frank said. He reflected that he'd thought that same thing himself, more than once. But he didn't know how they could be more careful with the unknown.

"Mom, I've got to give Jack a call before we go," he said, rising to his feet. "I guess Wayne's World is going to have to struggle along without Joe and me for a day or so."

She managed a smile at his attempt at levity and nodded agreement. "Whenever you're ready to go, Frank."

Jack was understanding and sympathetic, when Frank contacted him and told him of Joe's mishap.

"I'm really sorry to leave you stranded, Jack – but with Joe in the hospital…and I have to look into things…." Frank wasn't sure exactly how to phrase it, but Jack needed no explanations.

" _Frank, it's all right. I understand perfectly. Take as long as you need. If I need to, I'll find someone from one of the other cargo services to help, until you get back. Jason can pull some extra hours, and April can fill in the gaps."_

"She won't want to load cargo in Joe's place," Frank tried to joke. "Besides, isn't she supposed to still take it easy with that arm she broke?"

" _She may not want to, but she's perfectly capable of it, and it wouldn't be the first time she's done it,"_ Jack retorted. _"I won't let her do anything that would hurt her arm. Don't worry about us, Frank, you just take care of business. And for_ _God's sake, be_ _careful_ _! You can't help anybody if you end up in the hospital too!"_

"You sound like my mother," Frank grumbled. "Thanks Jack," he said and hung up.

Frank sat for a moment gathering his thoughts. He'd talked to Phil Cohen the night before, while sitting at the hospital, and made plans with him and Allison for the day. He knew what his next few moves were… _but if nothing happens from those moves, I don't know what to do next! No – don't think like that. Something_ _will_ _happen, something that will break this thing open!_ He stood up, suddenly resolute. "Mom? I'm ready to leave any time you are."

Frank had to smile when he saw Laura climb into the Saturn carefully balancing a large travel mug and a little basket of Gertrude's muffins. "Taking Dad some breakfast?"

"Yes," she replied. "He's had a hard enough night without having to face cold Danish and hospital coffee. At least he deserves a decent breakfast."

Frank held her gaze a moment. "And maybe Joe will wake up and want some, too."

###

When they reached the hospital's Critical Care unit, Frank and Laura walked quickly to Joe's room, where they found Mr. Hardy hunched into a chair, reading a magazine. He looked up and smiled a welcome.

"Hi, honey." Fenton kissed his wife, but gave her a long, measuring look. "You should have stayed home and slept longer," he admonished affectionately.

"I decided you needed some breakfast," she replied lightly, holding up what she'd brought. "There's…no change?"

"No, not yet." Fenton stepped over to hug Frank, who was staring bleakly at Joe. "He hasn't stirred, but the doctors say he isn't in a coma, exactly…they aren't sure why he hasn't waked up. He could, at any time, though…."

"Fenton—" Laura pulled his attention away from their elder son. "Come on out to the waiting room to eat your breakfast. Let's let Frank stay with Joe for a few minutes." She tugged at her husband's arm, and he obediently followed her from the room.

Frank kept his somber gaze on his brother as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. Joe was hooked to EEG and EKG monitors, and there was an IV tube running into the back of one hand. _But at least he's breathing on his own!_ Frank thought. _That's good, I know it is, that he doesn't have to be on a ventilator to breathe._

Now that he could take a long, uninterrupted look at Joe, Frank could see numerous minor injuries. His arms bore scratches and scrapes, and discolored bruises. His face was similarly marked, with abrasions and bruises, and small cuts; the largest of course being the bandaged wound on his head. Frank could believe Joe had hit his head on something hard, but the other cuts and scrapes puzzled him. It looked like Joe had tramped through a jungle without benefit of a machete – or tangled with a pack of alley cats!

"Joe, I'm going to find out who did this to you," Frank spoke aloud. "I'll take care of finding the person who hurt you; you just work on getting better, okay?" He reached for the hand nearest him, and covered it with his own, squeezing it tightly. Still holding on, Frank sat back in the chair and closed his eyes, but he didn't fall asleep. After a moment or two, he released Joe's hand and stood up.

"Hang in there, Joe. I'll be back – later."

With a set expression that was uncannily like Joe's at his most determined, Frank walked from the room.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013 for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 17

Allison Lewis's large home was located about ten miles on the other side of the halfway point between Bayport and New York City – far enough out to be considered suburbia, but close enough that a commute to the city usually took less than a half hour…that is, if the traffic wasn't too horrendous, and one didn't get stuck in a back-up on one of the bridges, or in one of the tunnels!

Frank stopped his car in front of the Lewis home once again. He noticed that a couple of workmen were already busy with the task of repairing the shattered front window. He got out of the Saturn and went up the walk, stopping when he reached a temporary barrier of plywood which the repairmen had erected to keep away casual gawkers.

Frank looked through the window opening, and saw Allison and Phil Cohen standing inside, gazing out. Phil gestured imperatively, pointing Frank towards the attached garage. Frank walked towards it, and in a few moments the door slid upwards, allowing him admittance.

Phil and Allison were waiting inside.

"How's Joe?" Phil demanded, as soon as Frank entered.

Frank gave him a bleak look. "He hasn't woken up – they don't know why. The doctors seem hopeful…" He dropped his gaze. "But I'm awfully worried."

Phil put a reassuring hand on the other's shoulder. "He'll be okay, Frank; just give it a little time." Allison echoed his sympathetic words with her own murmurs of encouragement.

"Yeah—" Frank attempted a wan smile at them both.

"The workmen got here early this morning, and they say they'll be done with the new window before noon," Phil went on. "Alli's got to stay here until they finish, since her folks aren't supposed to be home until this evening, but she'll be in New York this afternoon for the photo session with the Junior Symphony."

"Okay." Frank managed a more genuine smile at Allison. "You ready to go, then, Cohen?"

"Yep, just let me grab this—" Phil swooped to pick up a small bag from the garage floor, "and this—" He caught Allison in one arm and kissed her soundly. "Okay, I'm set. See you this afternoon, Alli!"

Once settled in the Saturn, Phil leaned back and looked around admiringly. He had seen it Friday night, of course, but hadn't had a chance to ride in it then. "Man, I love this car! You really picked a nice one, Frank. I wish I could afford to get something like it, but right now all my dough goes into rent and school – although working full-time this summer at Computer Wizardry ought to help."

"Yeah…I like it okay." Frank could scarcely believe what he heard himself saying; a few days before, he would have been bubbling over with enthusiasm about his new car. But now, everything seemed to have lost its luster and appeal, even his precious new Saturn; all muted in comparison to the ever-present worry over Joe. _Joe would kick my tail if he knew I wasn't appreciating my new car!_ he thought with an inward smile, and managed to put a little more spirit into his voice. "It gets great gas mileage, that's for sure. Big change from the old van."

"Mmm, really nice interior." Phil ran an approving hand over the upholstery. "Well, okay, down to business. Alli made the arrangements you wanted – although it wasn't easy, as early in the morning as it was! We can get into the orchestra hall to look around before noon, but after noon it's going to be busy, because the JSO is having photos taken, in full battle regalia!"

"That's fine. We have plenty of time to get there, and I want to get started," Frank responded. As he considered Phil's words, a thrill ran through him. _'Full battle regalia!' That means that I can look for the missing cuff link again!_ This was unexpected luck!

Frank negotiated the streets of downtown Manhattan through the Monday-morning traffic. Avoiding the numerous taxicabs was the worst; the drivers didn't seem to care in the least if someone was already _in_ the spot they wanted, when they decided to change lanes! He wondered how many of them actually possessed driver's licenses, and voiced his comment to Phil.

Phil chuckled. "I have no idea, but I know what you mean. They don't seem too safety-conscious, do they?" He paused a beat, then reverted to the subject on both their minds. "Frank, Allison's willing to give up the Strad. She and I both agree that it's much more important for you to figure out who hurt Joe than to hunt for a missing violin."

"I think that if I find out the one, I'll know the answer to the other," Frank answered. "The two things almost have to be connected in some way. But I don't think it's Allison's cousin Rodney. Joe was positive it was, but I really don't agree with that, unless Rodney had an accomplice. He couldn't be in two places at the same time. And I was talking to him when someone else was watching Allison's house."

"He could have someone working for him," Phil countered. "Maybe that's the reason for all the money he owes!"

Frank was caught unprepared for _that_ theory. He considered it a moment, admitting to himself that Phil could be on target, then shrugged. "I don't know. It's possible, of course, but I'm not sure." Silently, he continued the discussion in his head. _Rodney doesn't seem like he'd be that well organized. He's more the impulsive type – the kind of guy who reacts to things, but doesn't plan them out in advance. But how can I judge? I only met the guy once! I could be totally off base._

For a while, they were quiet; the only interruptions to the silence were Phil's occasional directions to guide Frank to the concert hall.

Frank had given up thinking about the mystery of the missing violin, and was thinking only of Joe. _Where could he have gone to, last night? Where's the mansion – or whatever it was that he went to? Did he ever get_ _in_ _there, or was he waylaid and hurt before he ever staked the place out? Why did I let him go alone? I could have insisted that he wait—_

Grimly, the elder Hardy forced himself to break off that line of thought. It wasn't productive…and it was damned repetitive!

At last Frank parked the car in one of the parking garages, and he and Phil walked through the bright, sunny June morning to the symphony concert hall where Allison had played the night her violin disappeared. Slung over Frank's shoulder was a small equipment bag, in which he carried the tricks of his trade: small camera, magnifying glass, plastic zipped bags of various sizes, lock picks, fingerprint kit, a little knife, pen and paper…he was determined to make a thorough search, this time, and he had come prepared!

As they neared the doors to the Symphony Hall, a familiar figure detached itself from a stone column. Frank was astonished to see Matt Eckersley, Phil's roommate, who came forward with an unabashed grin and an extended hand.

"Hey, Frank dude!"

"Uh – hi, Matt." Frank couldn't help smiling in response to the other's evident pleasure.

"Phil called me last night." Matt's grin faded. "Man, I am like really sorry about what happened to Joe! How's he doing now?"

"He's still unconscious," Frank admitted. "But the doctors keep saying he could wake up at any time." _If I keep repeating it, maybe it will seem like more of a reality…he'll wake up any time…any minute now, he'll wake up._

"That's good." Matt shoved back a dangling lock of hair and began grinning again. "Phil said maybe I could help you guys look around here. The more eyes the better – right?"

Frank nodded.

"All right!" Matt's greenish-hazel eyes sparkled with anticipation and his smile widened. "Great! What first?"

Frank smiled. "First," he suggested, "let's go inside."

Inside the building, the three boys met Mr. Dithers, the gray-haired head custodian.

"I got a call telling me to let you search the hall," the short, chunky man said, somewhat grumpily, "but you're to stay out of the sound control areas, and out of the upper levels as well. They're doing work on the sound systems and speakers this morning. You can look in the back rooms all you want, until noon. Then you have to get out." He stared challengingly at them with faded blue eyes, ready to assert his authority over these interlopers.

Frank thanked him politely, and said they'd try to stay out of his way during their search. Mr. Dithers grumbled a bit more, but finally took himself off to supervise the work going on upstairs.

"Dude!" Matt was grinning like a delighted hyena as he marched after Frank and Phil, his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He followed them to the back room where the orchestra had gathered on Friday night, following the concert.

"Okay, let's split up," Frank instructed his assistants. "I know that a lot of what we might have found Friday will be gone now. The place has been used by the Senior Orchestra since then, from what Allison said, but you never can tell what you might find, even several days afterwards."

The three spread out, searching. Phil and Frank were silent; they'd done this sort of thing before. Matt, however, was entranced by the whole thing, and kept up a soft-spoken running commentary as he looked around. "Dude….Man, oh man….Whoa, baby…."

While Phil and Matt concentrated their efforts on going over the main room inch by inch, Frank headed down the hallway towards the back doorway he and Joe had found…the doorway where the cuff link had been discovered. It was closed now, naturally enough, and bore a large padlock to make sure it wasn't accidentally opened again.

Frank knelt down in front of it, to take a closer look at the floor, grimacing a little at the dust he was getting smeared on his jeans. Obviously this area didn't get cleaned very often, but then why should it? It wasn't _used_ very often! He could still make out footprints in the gathered dust; probably his and Joe's, from Friday night, as well as…Robert's? And perhaps someone else's? Frank sighed and shook his head. _No way to tell_.

He got to his feet and turned, gazing at the wall. Reaching into his bag, he took out the magnifying glass, and began carefully examining the surface…and stopped.

It was a very clear thumbprint. Visible even without magnification, with the glass it leaped out at him like a beacon. The print had a considerable amount of sticky, purple residue, what looked like grape candy of some kind.

Grinning wolfishly, Frank set down the magnifying glass and reached again into his bag. This time he brought out the camera, set it on zoom, and snapped some close-up shots of the print. Then he used the fingerprint kit and dusted it and made a slide – for later close examination and checking.

Matt had noticed Frank's activity, and stopped his part of the search to watch Frank work. He hovered, fascinated and impressed, full of questions.

"Whoa, dude, that is something else…what next?"

"Dust it with this," Frank murmured, flicking the soft little brush from his kit over the print.

"Dude…." Matt held his breath, watching. "Now what?"

"Lift it," was the reply.

"Wow." Matt watched, mesmerized. "And then?"

"Put it on this little glass slide," Frank fitted his actions to his words.

"Whoa, dude, I am like totally in awe of you!" Matt's eyes were round with wonder as Frank put away his equipment.

He couldn't help laughing at Matt's commentary. It was like the old days, when anything he and Joe did in the detective line was a source of constant amazement for Chet, or Tony, or Biff. Now, of course, they were accustomed to it. But it was new to Matt, and fascinating.

"I'm done now, Matt; let's get back to work," he advised, and Matt resumed his scrutiny of the walls and flooring backstage.

Taking a moment to stretch his back, Frank stepped out onto the stage. He rubbed the back of his neck, pondering his next step. Finding the print had been great, but….

"Frank, look out!" The sharp cry interrupted his musings, and looking up, Frank beheld a large speaker just above him, dropping towards his head at an alarming rate!


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cheryl and Max2013 for the kind reviews.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 18

"DUDE!" Matt yelped sharply, and sprang forward, knocking Frank out of the way of the plummeting speaker in a most dramatic fashion. Both of them went rolling across the stage as the large piece of equipment crashed to the boards. They sprawled there, breathless.

From high above, they heard a string of obscenities, followed by a shout of "Watch out, you idiot!"

Running footsteps in the aisle announced the arrival of Mr. Dithers from the back of the auditorium, who glared about, and in a hostile voice demanded to know what was going on!

The disembodied voice from above informed him: "The damned speaker fell! It broke loose, because it wasn't screwed down right the first time! It just fell! We're getting everything adjusted to the new specs, though…" the voice continued in a milder tone.

Mr. Dithers rubbed his head and gazed heavenward. "What is going to go wrong NEXT?" he bellowed. It wasn't plain if he was questioning a deity, or asking the installation tech, but it didn't matter, because he received no reply from either. Grumbling to himself, he wandered off towards the back again, without even bothering to check on Frank's and Matt's welfare.

"Whoa, dude…" Matt whispered, slowly levering himself off the floor.

"You okay?" Frank sat up. A quick once-over told him he was unhurt, if slightly shaken. "Thanks for the save!"

"I – yeah, I'm okay. Just a bumped elbow, that's all." Matt stared at the fallen speaker. "But…man, that was totally wild! I never moved that fast in my life, ya know?" He gulped. "That thing could've mashed you flat, Frank dude!"

Frank smiled tolerantly as he too looked at the smashed speaker. Now that he could see it up close, he realized that it wasn't one of the really large speakers that were used by traveling bands in performance, but it was perhaps half his height, and heavy. If it had hit him, it definitely could have killed him!

Frank moved in to inspect it a little more closely. One of the support struts was bent almost beyond recognition, naturally enough, but the others appeared to be undamaged. _Accident? I wonder…._

He and Matt walked backstage again, to resume their interrupted search.

"Find anything?" he asked Phil, who had arrived onstage after the accident, too late to do much more than help Matt brush himself clean of dust.

"No," Phil admitted in disgust. "Everywhere I looked had just been cleaned and vacuumed!"

"Well, I found what I wanted to find," Frank told him. "That print with the sticky purple residue! It looks like grape candy – like one of those Jolly Rancher candies. It could be a clue. Unless one of the custodians is really into eating hard candy, of course," he added with a chuckle, but as he said the words, they became an all-too-likely reality. _What if one of the custodians was his quarry! Or one of the sound techs, who might have loosed the speaker from high above…_."Let's get out of here for a little while."

The three boys went outside the hall, and sat down on the steps in the sunshine. Frank glanced at his watch, pondering just what his next move should be. For a few minutes, he had ceased to think about Joe, but now the worry came back with a rush. Sternly, he banished it to the back of his mind. He didn't have leisure for thinking about Joe just now.

Phil was slumped forward, his face buried in his hands. As Frank watched, Phil yawned deeply and shuddered.

"You okay, dude?" Matt asked him.

"Yeah," Phil mumbled through his fingers. "Just tired. I didn't get much sleep last night."

Frank involuntarily glanced at Matt, and found the older man returning his look with a very knowing expression on his thin face. Both grinned in silent amusement. Frank took another look at his old friend, a candidly speculative look. _Phil stayed at Allison's last night. Allison's parents aren't home….Wow…I guess Phil's changed in more ways than just acquiring aggressive driving habits since he's moved to New York! And to think that he hardly even_ _dated_ _anyone, in high school! What do they say? It's always those quiet ones…the ones you'd least expect it of._

Following that train of thought, Frank suddenly wondered if he, himself would be considered one of the 'quiet ones,' and recalled Joe's speculations on what it might be like to share an apartment instead of living at home… _Megan and Vanessa could visit…anytime they wanted to…stay over…. Stop it, Hardy_ , he admonished himself, with an inward chuckle. _What would Aunt Gertrude say if she knew you considered things like that?_

"What say we catch an early lunch?" Matt suggested. "I know you need to be back here when the JSO kids come, but we could chill, and relax a little while first."

"Sounds like a plan," Frank approved, getting to his feet. Suddenly, breakfast seemed a long time ago. "Lead the way."

###

Matt did indeed lead the way – to Marrin's, which he said was one of his favorite places to eat. It proved to be a buffet-style restaurant, and the three of them made full use of the 'all you can eat' setup. They made small talk as they ate, with Matt doing most of the talking.

"Macey's gonna be on Broadway, can you dig it? She got picked to sing the part of Eponine in _Les Miserables_ and she starts in three weeks! I mean, I've always known she's a really good singer, but  Broadway! I can't believe my girl's gonna sing on Broadway!"

"That's really great, Matt…" Frank made polite responses, but listened with only half an ear as Matt talked. He stared at his glass of Pepsi as he thought about the case – what he knew and had discovered about it. He _knew_ , for instance, that the cuff link he'd found belonged to one of the Junior Symphony Orchestra members. He was _fairly_ sure that the mansion was involved somehow – the mansion to which Joe had followed someone who had been spying on Allison. He _knew for a fact_ that Allison's house had been attacked with a brick through a window and a threatening message. He knew that Allison and Phil had received alarming phone calls, and there was the picture with the knife through it, at Phil's apartment. He himself had seen someone attempt to take Allison's violin right from her very hands, and nearly succeed. He knew that he had nearly been run down by a car after the concert, although he was forced to admit that was a long stretch to add into the mix. And there was that incriminating fingerprint he had just found.

 _This could be a really easy case to solve, if I could just find the one person that all these things add up to! The fingerprint, now – if Dad or Con Riley can do anything with it, that should help solve that little mystery, although lots of kids eat Jolly Ranchers. Of course, unless it's someone who's been picked up before, fingerprints might not be on file…wait. There're all those things they started back when we were little, fingerprinting kids in case they were lost, or abducted. Lots and lots of kids had their fingerprints taken! Not necessarily on file with the police, but…_

"Frank? Frank, you still on the same planet as us?" Phil's voice filtered through Frank's buzzing thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Phil. Guess I wasn't listening. What did you say?"

"It's okay, pal. I just wondered what you were thinking about so hard." Phil gazed at his friend sympathetically. "Joe?"

"Partly – but partly the clues to the case, too." Frank chewed the corner of his lip reflectively. "Do you know very many members of the JSO well, Phil?"

Phil shrugged ruefully. "Not really. I know Angel Coussard, and Henri Bouchier, and Alexis Davenport. I know most of the others by sight; I've seen them around, and said 'hi,' but haven't really talked to them much. So I can't say I know them well. Sorry." He brightened. "Maybe we can both learn more about them when we go back to meet the orchestra later."

"Maybe," Frank murmured, and returned to contemplating his drink.

#####

 _A soft, tuneful melody echoed through Vanessa Bender's mind, and she was dancing to that music, blissfully dancing with Joe, his arms warm and strong about her, his deep blue eyes tender as he looked at her. About them shimmered the gauzy glitter of the fairytale room at Miracles Can Happen. Vanessa noted that some enterprising soul had added the effect of dry ice, for knee-high mist shrouded the dance floor. She could hear Joe's whisper beneath the music:_

" _I love you, babe…you're so incredibly beautiful…."_

" _You're pretty handsome yourself." Laughing, she stroked the back of his hair, smoothing the blonde waves. But to her surprise, he suddenly released her, and stepped backwards, out of her embrace. "Joe? Where are you going? Don't leave!"_

 _He smiled, but didn't speak, and there was something strange and distant in that gentle smile. He gazed at her compellingly, but somehow he kept moving away, receding…further and further away._

" _Joe?" Alarmed by his silence and distance, she reached out to him. Surely he hadn't moved that far away – had he? Why couldn't she touch him? Why did he seem to be fading – becoming part of the gauzy mist surrounding them? "_ _Joe_ _! Answer me! Don't go!" Again, Vanessa reached, frantically clutching at Joe's increasingly-transparent form, only to see her hands pass through. "JOE!"_

"Vanessa?"

" _Joe! Joe, don't leave me!" Vanessa whimpered, extending her hands towards the fading figure. But there was no reply. As he disappeared, Vanessa's eyes fell on her outreached hands, and to her horror, she saw the class ring Joe had given her suddenly slide from her finger. She made a frantic grab for it, but it eluded her clutch, and fell, disappearing into the fog. "NO!" She dropped to her knees, seeking it, feeling for it, patting blindly in the obscuring mist. "Joe, I dropped your ring! I can't find it – Help me…!"_

"Vanessa, honey!"

"Joe?" Despair turned to hope. He was answering her, at last! "Joe!" Her eyes flew open

"No, honey, it's not Joe – it's me, kiddo – Mom." Andrea Bender gently patted her daughter's shoulder.

"M-mom?" Vanessa blinked in confusion. No longer was she on a dance floor, but lying in bed in her own room, with summer sunlight pouring warmly through the windows. "I thought – I thought I…I guess I was dreaming." She looked around, still attempting to reconcile two alternate realities. "I dreamed I'd lost Joe's ring—" She held up her left hand to demonstrate, and gasped in shock. _Her hand was bare!_ "My ring! Where's my ring?"

"Vanessa, honey, calm down," Andrea remonstrated. "I'm sure it's around, don't worry."

"I've got to find it – I've got to find it now!" Ordinarily cool and self-possessed, Vanessa was uncharacteristically shrill as she hurled herself out of bed. "Mom, help me look!" _I've lost his ring – and in the dream I lost it, and I lost Joe too! Is he slipping away – is he going to die? Is that what it meant?_

"All right, Van, simmer down, it will turn up. Where did you have it last?"

"I don't know – I don't remember! I had it on at the hospital! I had it then!" As she talked, Vanessa was down on her knees, searching beneath the bed, frantically patting over the carpeting as she had patted the dance floor in her dream. _Nothing_. She leaped to her feet and yanked back the covers, tearing them from the bed.

"Vanessa, honey—" Andrea was becoming worried now, at her daughter's erratic behavior.

Alerted by all the activity, a small furry bundle of energy trotted into the bedroom. An adolescent cat, with long fluffy white fur and golden eyes leaped gaily onto the bed and made a snatch at the billowing sheets which Vanessa was flapping so energetically.

"Thistle! Move!" Ordinarily delighted to play with the kitten, this morning Vanessa had no patience for Thistle's antics. "Get out of my way, you stupid cat, or I'll mangle you!" She swatted angrily at Thistle, who batted at her hands with playful intensity, showing all the claws which made his name so appropriate.

Andrea was searching now too, picking up articles of discarded clothing from the floor and shaking each one out carefully. "He thinks you're playing with him, honey." To the kitten, she added, "Spike, you'd better watch it; she's not kidding!"

Now near tears, Vanessa transferred her search to her dresser, muttering to herself. "I know I didn't put it up here; I always wear it to bed, I never set it on the dresser, WHERE is it?"

Andrea thought hard. "Do you take it off when you wash your face, so the yarn doesn't get wet?"

"Yes! The bathroom counter!" Vanessa darted into the bathroom, only to wail, "It's not there either!" Her voice raised to a near-hysterical pitch. "Mom, where is it? I've got to find it!" Thistle, disgruntled at the lack of attention being paid to him, jumped down from the bed and trotted after Vanessa. "Thistle, go AWAY!"

Undaunted, Thistle insinuated himself beneath Vanessa's arm as she knelt on the floor of the bathroom. He kept patting ecstatically at the girl's hands as she moved them across the floor.

"It's no use…it's not here." Vanessa sat back, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I've lost it – I've lost Joe's ring…I've lost Joe…."

"Honey, don't cry. We'll find it, and you haven't lost Joe."

"But I have – it's the dream—" Vanessa shook her head, as sobs choked her. Beside her, Thistle pounced on a dust mote floating in the sunshine, then suddenly darted away, to scramble behind the toilet. There came a soft clicking nose, and a bright, glittery object shot into view, immediately followed by a paw with claws extended to grip the yarn wound onto it!

Vanessa shrieked. "My ring! My ring! Thistle found it!" The snatch she made at the bauble nearly equaled Thistle's in its swiftness. "Good kitty, good Thistle!" Tears still rolling down her cheeks, she stroked the little white cat, whose forgiving purr filled the bathroom.

"Well good for Thistle!" Andrea heaved a relieved sigh. "Although I suspect he may have had a hand – or a paw – in misplacing it! If you left it in there, and he saw it, he probably decided it would make a dandy cat toy!"

Ring tightly enfolded in her hand, Vanessa made her way back to her bed and collapsed upon it.

"Honey, for goodness' sake, why were you so upset about that ring? You must have known we'd find it, sooner or later!" Andrea sat down beside her daughter. "And what's this about losing Joe? Isn't he all right? Remember, I wasn't awake when you came home. What time did you get home, anyway?"

Vanessa blinked back tears. "It was about 2:30, I guess." Dolefully, she told Andrea what the doctor had said about Joe not regaining consciousness and that they didn't know what was causing it. "And then…and then I had this dream," she continued. Repeating the details to her mother, Vanessa began once more to cry. "And…and he – dis-disappeared," she choked. "And then the ring was g-gone….I'm sc-scared, Mom!"

"Ah, baby," Andrea enclosed her in her arms. "You've never been one to be superstitious! Do you believe in portents, now? It was just a dream, just your subconscious having a field day because you're worried, not an evil omen. Have a little faith, kiddo! Joe's strong, and he's been through worse things and come out just fine. He will this time, too!" Gently, she rocked Vanessa, and patted her back. "Don't worry so, honey – and don't cry so hard…don't cry."

Thistle, in a display of kittenish affection, had crawled into Vanessa's lap, and was enthusiastically kneading her pajama-clad leg, which action probably was the reason Vanessa managed to stop sobbing, if only to admonish the little cat. "Ouch! St-stop it, Thistle!" She sniffled, and reached for a tissue to blow her nose. "Okay, I'm all right now, Mom." She sighed. "I'm sorry for making a scene."

Andrea gave her daughter a final pat and got to her feet. "You're allowed a scene every now and then. Why don't you put your bedroom back together, and get dressed," she advised, "while I make some breakfast."

Vanessa looked around at the chaos resulting from her frantic search for the ring, and sighed again. "All right." She removed Thistle from her lap and stood up. "Come on, kitty, let's make the bed," she murmured disconsolately.

###

When Vanessa finally reached the kitchen, Thistle scampering at her heels, she found Andrea had poured juice and cold cereal for them both, and was making toast. The enticing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee hung in the air.

"Mmmm, that smells good!" Vanessa managed a watery smile. She sat down in her usual place, and the smile became more genuine as Andrea set a mug in front of her. Inscribed on the white ceramic in curvy blue letters were the words: **Instant Human: Just Add Coffee** This was Vanessa's favorite coffee mug, which Andrea had found on a business trip and brought home to her the year before. "Thanks, Mom," she murmured, and took a grateful sip. "I'm not very hungry, though."

"You need to eat something," Andrea admonished gently. "If you don't take care of yourself, you'll get sick."

Vanessa shrugged, and took another sip of coffee…and another.

They ate breakfast quietly, Vanessa still downcast and Andrea thoughtful. When the plates were cleared away and second cups of coffee poured, Vanessa looked at the clock.

"I meant to be at the hospital before now," she murmured.

"Maybe Joe's awake now," Andrea suggested, hopefully, but Vanessa shook her head.

"No – someone would have called me. He's not. Maybe he never will be…"

Andrea sighed sharply. "Kiddo, don't give up like that! You've got to stay strong! Joe wouldn't want you to give up. And graduation's coming up, remember? He'd want you to be looking forward to that—"

Vanessa's jaw set stubbornly. "I've thought about that," she said. "If Joe's not there to march with me, then I'm not going to march either. They can mail me the darned diploma!"

Andrea's eyes widened at this revelation, and Vanessa glared at her, as if daring her to protest. "Kiddo, you know perfectly well that Joe wouldn't like it if you did that. You should think about this a little more – when you're more wide awake!"

Vanessa didn't reply. _I've already thought about it,_ she thought, _and there's no way I'm graduating without Joe. No way!_ She got to her feet and picked up the coffee mug. "I've got to get to the hospital, Mom," she muttered, and walked out of the kitchen. Two minutes later she was behind the wheel of her Jeep Wrangler, her coffee resting in a cup holder beside her.

At the hospital, Vanessa carried her half-empty coffee mug with her up to the Critical Care unit. Getting directions to Joe's room, she hurried there, and discovered Laura Hardy sitting at her son's bedside, reading a book. Laura looked up with a welcoming smile as Vanessa entered the room.

"Vanessa! How are you doing, honey?" Mrs. Hardy stood up and hugged the girl warmly, and then her gaze followed Vanessa's towards Joe. "No change yet," she said, answering the unspoken question. "They said they needed to run more blood tests this morning," she continued, her tone scathing, "because for some reason or other, the lab results from last night got lost. I'm still waiting to hear the results."

Vanessa groaned. "How could they mess up like that?"

"I don't know." Laura shook her head. "It's a good thing Fenton had already gone home to get some sleep, before that little tidbit of information came out – he'd have thrown a fit!"

Vanessa looked wistfully at Joe, and sighed. "Would you like to go get something to eat, or drink?" she softly asked Mrs. Hardy. "I'll stay here with Joe – just in case he wakes up!"

"All right, honey." Laura hadn't missed the wistful glance, and knew Vanessa wanted a chance to be alone with Joe. "I could use another cup of coffee." She squeezed Vanessa's hand, and went out of the room.

Vanessa walked to the bed and leaned against it, staring down at her boyfriend. Joe looked so peaceful – eyes shut, breathing evenly, although she saw with some surprise that he had scratches on his face and hands and arms. _It looks like you've been playing with Thistle in one of his 'attack cat' moods!_ "You're going to make it, darn you!" she said fiercely. "You  are! There's no way you're not going to make it through this!"

She scooted the chair as close as she could, then sank into it and took Joe's free hand in her own. She felt tears forming again. _Please, Joe – please wake up! Please, just wake up right now!_ Bleak thoughts of her dream floated through her mind, and she thought about Joe, getting farther and farther away, growing dimmer. How far away was he from her, right now?

 _NO! That dream won't come true!_ she berated herself, _He_ _has_ _to come back!_ Still clutching Joe's hand, she leaned forward and rested her head against the back of it, closing her eyes wearily. She could feel him now, he was _there_ , real and solid. No obscuring mists, no transparency. He was with her, and he wasn't going to leave! She relaxed, feeling the reassuring warmth of his natural body heat….

"Vanessa?" A hand touched her back, gently, and she started upright. Laura Hardy was standing beside her, smiling. "Are you all right, honey?"

"Yes." Vanessa watched her boyfriend's mother seat herself in a second chair, balancing a mug of coffee. Laura held it up, showing the inscription, which stated Mothers are Those Wonderful People Who Can Get Up Before the Smell of Coffee.

"Isn't that a nice thought?" she said. "One of the nurses brought me coffee in this cup. They're very sweet – although the sentiment doesn't apply to me. Whoever wrote it never saw me trying to function with my eyes shut, at 6 a.m."

"Yes, it's—" Vanessa began to agree, but a voice from the door interrupted her.

"Mrs. Hardy?"

Both Vanessa and Laura looked toward the door, and saw a dark-haired man in a lab coat, with a stethoscope hanging about his neck. He walked into the room as both women stood up.

"I'm Dr. Ingersoll," he introduced himself, shaking hands with Laura. "We've finally gotten results from the blood tests," he went on, "and we believe we now know why Joe hasn't waked up the way we anticipated."

Vanessa and Laura exchanged glances. "Why?" Laura demanded.

"Besides the head injury," Dr. Ingersoll said, "it appears that he was given a pretty heavy dose of Rohypnol. That's one of those drugs which cause unconsciousness—"

"I know what Rohypnol is," Laura cut him off. "How is it going to affect Joe's recovery?"

Dr. Ingersoll looked distinctly uncomfortable. "It's an unusual situation, Mrs. Hardy; not something that we encounter often. And of course, having the original blood work results misplaced…if we'd known last night, we….Well, anyway, a patient's reaction to the combination of drugs and injury can vary greatly, depending on the person."

"Yes?" Laura was holding onto her temper with an effort. "And what do you predict will happen in this case?"

"We'll just have to wait and see," the physician said. "He could wake up anytime, as soon as the drug works its way out of his system – which should be very soon." He paused. "Or – depending on his system's reaction – he might not wake up at all."


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to all who have been reading and have left commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreanweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 19

When they were finished eating, Matt and Phil gazed expectantly at the Hardy boy, waiting for further instructions. Frank, looking at their eager faces, hated to disappoint them.

"I'd like to do something before we return to the concert hall," he said. "I want to see that ketchup-drenched knife and picture, at your apartment."

Matt looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Er…dude, I, um…I cleaned up the wall," he mumbled. "I didn't know I should've left it alone…."

"No reason you'd know, and I don't blame you for cleaning that mess up. You didn't throw away the picture, or the knife, did you?"

"No – no, they're still there, on the counter." Matt looked up, encouraged. "Is that okay, then?"

"It should be," Frank assured him. "Let's go and find out."

When they reached the apartment, Matt was still apprehensive. "Frank dude, I am like major sorry about cleaning off the ketchup, but it was starting to really get to me…" He shoved back his hair, and fastened a worried gaze on the elder Hardy.

Frank smiled at him. "Don't worry, Matt. I can get prints from other areas – at least, I can if there are any to be found. If any got left!" He took out his kit, and began scanning the wall closely; after a moment he got out a magnifying glass and ran it all along the wall.

"Um—" Matt hesitated. "I probably touched the wall when I cleaned the ketchup off, ya know…."

"No problem, Matt, really. I'm not just looking at the wall; I'm looking outside of it too. Whoever did this might have left more fingerprints somewhere else." Frank looked around, thoughtfully. "In fact, I should probably dust other areas in here; the guy might have touched more things than the wall." He turned to Phil. "Do you recognize the knife?"

Phil studied the instrument lying on the counter, and nodded, motioning to his roommate to look too. "Matt?"

"Yeah, it's mine," Matt concurred. "My mom gave me a set of kitchen knives," he grinned. "I don't think she, like, ever thought of it being used like this, though!"

"Figured it probably was," Frank said. "We should check for prints wherever the knife usually is. Was it in a drawer? A knife rack?"

"Yeah, it was in one of the drawers – Phil and I share, you know?" Matt replied. "We don't have separate stuff."

Frank nodded his understanding, continuing to study the wall carefully. He worked his way along the surface, and eventually was rewarded. He found a print, quite a clear one, and nodded in satisfaction as he marked off the area, so that he could find it later. He made only a lightly penciled box, realizing that Phil and Matt might appreciate it when it came time to clean the mark off!

Frank moved into the little kitchen area, and checked over the drawer that Matt indicated. There were several knives of varying sizes, plus other kitchen implements.

"I don't know if I can get a clear print here," Frank admitted. "I mean, you guys keep it fairly clean in here, but it's doubtful that the drawer handle has been cleaned, and you use it all the time, right?"

Matt and Phil shrugged and exchanged dubious looks, apparently attempting to figure out when the drawer might have last been used.

"I haven't been here since Saturday," Phil offered. "And the knife was already in the wall when I left."

Frank continued looking, and managed to spray and dust three extra prints – very clear prints, that he figured probably belonged to Matt or Phil. At last he went back to the counter and looked at the knife itself – and the picture it had been thrust through. For some obscure reason, Matt hadn't washed the knife or taken it out; he'd merely set the whole thing on top of a paper towel and left it there. Frank had no idea why this had occurred, but it was a fortunate happenstance.

He set about his examination, first pulling on a pair of thin plastic gloves from his kit. Then he lifted each item – the knife and the photograph – carefully, looking for anything resembling a print.

 _There!_ Frank caught his breath, feeling a thrill. He'd lucked out – or so he hoped. The back of the picture held one very clear print, and there was another on the tip of the knife blade. It looked as if the person who'd done this had picked up the knife by the blade, rather than the handle. _You were careful, buddy – but not quite careful enough!_ Frank exulted. He nodded in satisfaction, and grinned at his two friends.

"Ready?" he asked.

Phil stared blankly at him, then exchanged puzzled glances with Matt.

"What for, man?" Matt asked.

Frank's grin broadened. "To be printed, of course!" he said. "I can't rule out prints if I don't know what yours look like, you know!"

"Whoa, radical, dude!" Matt exclaimed, delighted at the prospect. Phil rolled his eyes and heaved an exaggerated sigh. Sometimes being Frank's friend was inconvenient, to say the least!

Matt thrust his hands out at Frank, and then drew them back as a thought occurred to him. "Are you gonna have to get ink stains on me? I'm not sure about that…."

Frank quirked a teasing smile at him. "Nope. Ink is for police stations. I have a way that's almost as good as that, and it doesn't leave your fingers quite as messy."

Frank took a small box from his bag, and opened it. "Just hold out your right hand," he instructed, extending it toward Matt, who still looked somewhat doubtful. "Put it in here – relax, it's okay! It's graphite. You know, pencil lead?" He grinned as Matt plunged his hand into the box. When the other man drew his hand out, Frank wrapped 'magic tape' about his thumb, then carefully pulled the strip of tape off and affixed it to a piece of white paper. A clear print of Matt's right thumb appeared.

"Whoa, that is too cool!" Matt marveled, his eyes rounded with awe. "Do the rest of 'em, dude!" He watched with excitement as Frank proceeded to take the rest of his prints. While he did so, Frank mockingly questioned Matt as if he were a suspect, while Phil listened, grinning.

"Where were you on Saturday, Matt? Can you prove that? Were you with anyone? Macey, huh? Can she give you an alibi for the whole day? Are you sure you didn't do this just to play a prank on Phil?"

Matt drank it all in, the same 'delighted hyena' grin spreading across his face as he answered Frank's barrage of questions. When Frank was finished with him, he sat and watched while Phil's prints were taken as well.

"The ink thing wouldn't take as long as these pencil shavings," Phil complained, as Frank meticulously wound tape on his fingers.

"I can do it the other way, if you really WANT to have black fingertips for the next few days," Frank told him.

Phil hastily withdrew his hand from the Hardy boy's grasp. "No, no, that's really all right, Frank, I'm fine with this!" he said. Matt broke into raucous laughter.

Finally done with his fingerprinting, Frank began comparing his findings. He was able to rule out the prints he took from the kitchen knife drawer – there were some there from Matt and Phil, both. He pointed out the ulnar curve on Matt's right index finger, and the whorl on Phil's thumb to his fascinated friends, and he found, to his disappointment, that the lovely clear print on the wall belonged to Matt, too.

When he got to the ones from the knife and the back of the picture, however, they matched neither Matt's nor Phil's. With mounting excitement, Frank pulled out the slide he'd made of the fingerprint on the concert hall wall – the grape-candy print. _All I need is a match…._

He stared at them in shock and disappointment. The prints weren't even _close_ to matching!

"It's not the same," he said dully.

"That doesn't mean it's not his, right?" Matt questioned. "It's not the same finger, is it?"

Frank sighed. "Maybe not…maybe not. But maybe…." Discouraged, he set about making slides of the other fingerprints, and put them into plastic sleeves in his case. _I won't give up…I've got to solve this. This is just a temporary setback, that's all…._

"Frank," Phil's quiet voice disturbed his thoughts. "We should get back to the hall. The photography shoot should be starting pretty soon."

"Yeah – okay." Frank snapped his case shut, and pulled out his cell phone. "I just want to take a minute to call the family and see if Joe's awake yet." He found the scrap of paper he'd written the hospital's number on, and dialed. Soon he was in contact with his mother.

"Mom? How's Joe?"

Matt and Phil, watching, were startled and alarmed to see Frank's face darken with rage as he talked with Laura. They listened to his terse comments, trying without success to discern what had happened in Bayport. When the conversation ended, Frank swore, and angrily flung his cell phone at the couch.

"Frank—" Phil put a hand on his arm, then shrank back as Frank whirled on him in fury. For a moment, Phil was afraid Frank was going to hit him! "Hey, what happened?" he asked, carefully keeping his distance.

Frank didn't answer for a moment, obviously struggling to get himself under control. Finally, he gritted out the news: "It's Joe – they did blood tests – somebody slipped him some Rohypnol, maybe after he hit his head – maybe before. That's why he's not waking up!"

"Oh, dude – that is like extreme serious," Matt hissed, aghast. "That's nasty!"

"What does the doctor say?" Phil queried, hoping for some encouragement from that quarter.

Frank looked stricken. "That's no help," he groaned. "the doctor told Mom that he doesn't know when – or IF – Joe will ever wake up!"

There wasn't anything Matt or Phil could say that offered comfort. Frank was grimly silent as they drove to Symphony Hall, and neither of his friends dared to break the silence; it was as if they knew better.

Frank's fingers were white on the steering wheel as he drove; he was fighting for control of his emotions again, and this time it was worse than before. He knew that being this upset was hampering his investigation, but he couldn't seem to damp his feelings down to an acceptable level. _It was bad enough that Joe, somehow, hit his head – or that someone else hit him. But they made it worse by giving him a drug…something that made things worse. It could kill him – keep him comatose the rest of his life – oh God, I've got to FIND this person!_

The boys parked in the closest lot to the theater, and walked the rest of the way. Matt and Phil talked quietly as they went, but Frank paid no attention to their conversation; he was concentrating on his task. _Find out who's missing a cuff link._ He thought with satisfaction of the tiny pair of binoculars in his pocket, which he'd taken from his kit – they would allow him a much more up-close-and-personal look at all the members of the orchestra. He only hoped that whoever had lost it hadn't already gotten it replaced. That would make it much, much harder to find out who was responsible – who had done this reprehensible thing to Joe!

#####

The New York Junior Symphony Orchestra was a lively group, and extremely talented, Frank observed, as he watched the members run scales or tune their instruments while they waited for the arrival of their conductor and the photographers.

Listening to them was highly interesting, and instructive. Some of them seemed to work in teams; others separately, depending on their personalities and/or preferences. Even though this was a photo session rather than a full rehearsal, it seemed that these young musicians played whenever there was an instrument available; it was in their blood!

Frank found himself briefly wrapped up in the scene. For a moment – only a moment – he was lost in watching them, and wasn't quite so dominated by his anger and the urgent need to find the people who had caused his brother hurt.

Frank kept his keen gaze on the orchestra members, watching them closely, each one, as if he could determine by mere observation who was the person responsible. Responsible for stealing the violin…responsible for hurting Joe! He couldn't tell, of course. _They're all different, and they're all so much alike – so engrossed in what they're doing that it's impossible to tell who the culprit might be. If the culprit even_ _is_ _one of these people, that is!_ Frank sighed dispiritedly. He just didn't have enough to go on; he just didn't know.

He settled back, content for the moment to merely watch and observe. A good detective, Frank knew, could pick up a lot just from the way another man carries himself. The way he reacts around others. _If I can just concentrate, and block out everything else, maybe I can figure out if any one of these kids is the person I'm looking for!_

But it seemed to be an impossible task. There were several individuals who were nervous, for one reason or another. There were others who were constantly on their own, or evident loners. That didn't necessarily mean that they might have stolen the violin, or had a hand in harming Joe!

Frank glanced over at Phil, who was watching Allison with rapt attention. _That man is so crazy about her, even just watching her tune her violin fascinates him!_ Frank thought, amused, and then realized something which made him flush in embarrassed chagrin: _That's the way you act around Megan, you dope! Just watching her_ _breathe_ _fascinates_ _you_ _!_

He scanned the group with his binoculars, starting with Angel Coussard and concentrating on all the boys in the group. He noticed Allison's brightly smiling face, and saw that she was using a different instrument today. It was obviously no match for the lost Stradivarius, but would do for rehearsals, and photos – but Allison needed that Strad back, that was certain! She looked happy, though – her smile didn't seem forced. _I wish I could smile like that again_ , he thought dolefully. At the moment he didn't feel as if he ever wanted to smile again.

He continued to look at the orchestra members, but it was hard to see everyone from where he was sitting with Phil and Matt.

"I'm going to move over a ways," he told them. "I can't see clearly from here." They nodded in acceptance, and Frank quietly changed seats. He raised the binoculars to his eyes and began scanning once more, trying to be casual about the whole thing, and not attract anyone undue attention.

And froze.

It wasn't a missing cuff link, it was something else. Something that might be even more telling.

One of the boys – in the cello section – was sitting calmly in his chair, instrument between his legs. He was unwrapping something – something that was not only obviously a piece of candy, but was a purple piece of candy. A Jolly-Rancher grape hard candy.

 _Bingo!_


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary. I'm glad you're enjoying reading.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 20

Oh-so-casually, Frank slid from his seat and walked back over to Phil and Matt, and sat down behind them. He leaned forward over the backs of their seats.

"What's up?" Phil asked.

"I've found him," Frank murmured, leaning close. "Look up there – see the boy with the dark hair in the third row? One of the cello players."

Phil looked where Frank indicated, then turned around in his seat, and stared at Frank incredulously. "Zacary Stein?" he whispered. "You think ZACARY STEIN is behind this?" It was evident that Phil couldn't believe his ears. Softly, he continued. "It would make more sense for it to be Rodney – or Robert! Or heck, me or Matt!"

"Hey!" Matt protested quietly.

Frank shrugged. "Zacary's the one sucking on grape candy. Jolly Rancher grape candy."

"No way," Phil scoffed. "Zac Stein is a mouse! A complete mouse! He's so shy Allison doesn't know how he got into the orchestra to begin with. I just can't believe that Zacary would have the guts to do any of this – steal the violin…anything!" He settled back into his seat, shaking his head. "Shouldn't you be checking for missing cuff links?" he reminded Frank.

"I am – I did. I can't tell from this far out if anyone was missing one, even with the binoculars," Frank replied. "There were four different guys who look as if they might be missing a cuff link, including Zacary, I might add," he continued, glancing at Phil in reproof, "but I won't know until I see them up close. What do you know about Zacary Stein?"

Phil shrugged. "I don't really know him at all. He's younger than Alli, by a little. He's shy – he tends to keep to himself. He has a huge crush on Allison – but then, who wouldn't?" he asked, reasonably.

"Hey, Frank dude—" Matt swiveled around to join the whispered conversation. "Are you gonna grill him? Can I help? Can we use hot pokers?"

Despite himself, Frank laughed – and felt some of his anger ease, the tension draining away, as well. Matt's comments had that effect. "Maybe," he chuckled, "but only if he doesn't talk when I want him to! But really," he continued, more seriously, "what I think I'm going to try to do is follow him home after he leaves here."

"Really?" Phil cocked an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Frank warmed to the idea. "When things let up here, it would be really nice if Matt would go get my car, and stay around outside somewhere – so that I can follow Zac to wherever he lives."

The look Phil gave him told Frank that he was about to receive another scolding. "Just WHEN, exactly," Phil spluttered, "did you lose your mind? You're going to try and follow someone in New York? It's not like in the movies, you know…."

"Chill, dude," Matt remonstrated his roommate. "Let Frank finish explaining, huh?"

Phil subsided, still glaring at his friend. "Nuts…you're nuts," he muttered.

Patiently, Frank worked to convince them of his sanity. "Phil, I have to at least try! I need to know, for sure, if this Zac is the one behind everything. If I end up following the kid out to a mansion on Long Island, then I'll know I made the right choice. If not – well, I'll just have to try again."

"Man, what if he takes public transportation?" Matt raised the question. "Subway, or the bus?"

Frank stared at him briefly, then shook his head. "Damn. I hadn't thought of that." He thought for a moment. "Well, I suppose I could just get on the same lines that he does. In that case, you can drive my car back to the apartment, Matt, and I'll pick it up later."

"And why can't I do the stuff with the car?" Phil wanted to know, huffily.

Frank, knowing Phil was only cross because of concern, grinned. "I've seen you drive. I want my car to stay in one piece!"

###

It took awhile, but the photos were finally taken, after the orchestra members were repositioned a time or two. First full orchestra, then section shots – the violinists, the cellists, the French horns, and so on, until all the sections of the ensemble were covered. The watching boys hoped that ended it, only to find out that _now_ , there were to be individual pictures of each member of the orchestra! Matt watched the proceedings with frowning concentration, but Phil and Frank were nearly comatose with boredom. It dragged on and on, but finally – after a small eternity! – it ended.

Phil led the way to the front, and hugged Allison and kissed her on the cheek. She greeted Frank and Matt, smiling.

"Where'd you get the strings?" Matt asked her, indicating the violin she was holding so carefully.

"It's Angel's second violin," Allison explained, turning her smile on the tall, slender boy standing near. "He's letting me borrow it, and it's as good as many peoples' first violins!"

He returned the smile, and gave her a little bow. "It is my pleasure, Allison. You can keep it as long as you need to, until you either get a new one of your own, or until you get your Strad back. Which I hope happens soon." He nodded to the three boys. "Excuse me, please; I must go."

As they chatted with Allison, Frank was keeping an eye on Zacary Stein. He noticed that the boy did, indeed, seem extremely shy; he said very little, except when someone asked him a direct question, and for the most part, he kept his eyes downcast. Frank watched him put his cello away – and then watched as Zacary unwrapped another of the grape candies that he seemed to be so fond of, and popped it in his mouth.

 _Wish I could just walk up to him and fingerprint him!_ the elder Hardy mused. _Then I'd know for sure!_

"Frank, Dale Edwards is missing both cuff links," Phil muttered in his ear, a few minutes later. "He's that big guy over there."

Frank frowned, somewhat peeved, and glanced over at the boy Phil indicated. He didn't _want_ two suspects, he admitted to himself. It just confused the issue. He wanted it to be Zacary Stein. "Allison, did you happen to notice Dale Edwards not having his cuff links?" he asked.

"He's always missing his cuff links," she replied. "He never wears them. I'm pretty sure I've never seen him with them. It drives Mr. D'Vargas absolutely crazy!"

"Does Zacary Stein always eat those grape candies?" Frank pursued.

Allison nodded. "Now that I think about it, yeah. I remember, once he had one in his mouth during a concert, and he got in trouble for it. Mr. D'Vargas got really upset about that!"

Frank wasn't sure if he thought Mr. D'Vargas was overly fussy, or had a lot to put up with, from his highly talented and wildly unpredictable group. He dismissed the prickly conductor from his mind, and concentrated on more important things. _Grape candy. Grape fingerprint_. _Only a person who was eating grape candy would have left that fingerprint on the wall by the back door._ He was pretty sure, now. Zacary had to be the man he sought. Whether or not Zacary actually had done something with Allison's violin, or was in that little stairwell for some other reason, was unknown.

"Matt, here." Frank handed his car keys over. "Go get my car, would you? Zacary doesn't look like he's in any hurry, but I can't be sure."

"You got it, dude. I'll be back ASAP." Matt pulled out his wallet and extracted his subway card, which he handed to Frank. "Here, man – just in case!"

A few minutes later, Frank was afraid his luck had run out. Zacary picked up his cello case and walked to the exit doors without a backward glance. With a hasty farewell to Phil and Allison, Frank followed him out of the building – and blinked in surprise when the boy headed directly towards the curb and got into a late-model navy blue SUV waiting there. _Interesting!_ Frank thought, intrigued, and glanced around, looking for Matt.

The black Saturn pulled up perhaps 30 seconds later, and Frank gratefully slid into the driver's seat. "Thanks, Matt – later!" he said, handed back the subway pass, and took off after Zacary. He caught up to the SUV quickly, and managed to stay fairly close, hoping that the driver – and Zac – would think that his vehicle was merely a random black car which had ended up behind them. He knew that this was a long shot, and it might be a royal waste of time – but he wasn't giving up yet.

###

Through the city streets they went, over the Triborough Toll Bridge onto Long Island. And now Frank was beginning to feel a faint hope that maybe, just maybe, he had the right guy. _Grape candy – grape fingerprint – Long Island._ Frank ticked the clues off in his head. Of course, Zac might live in Brooklyn – or Queens – but Frank hoped not. He hoped that Zac lived much further out…in a large mansion located on a back road somewhere.

 _And when I find whoever it is that hurt Joe – be it Zacary Stein or someone else – I am going to see that they are punished…they'll pay for it! And for taking Allison's violin, too, of course…but mostly for hurting Joe!_

Distracted by his vengeful thoughts, Frank nearly lost his quarry when the SUV made a turn off the main road. He slammed on the brakes, grateful that there was no one behind him at the moment, and his tires squealed as he forced the car into a fast turn and followed the other vehicle. He caught up quickly, then forced himself to drop back a little way. It was too risky to tail the SUV too closely.

Eventually, the signs indicated that they had reached Hill Point. Now Frank was more sure than ever that he had the right person. _Hill Point was where Joe was going; maybe where he got hurt – and drugged!_ He continued to follow the SUV, and a short time later he was positive his hunch had paid off – for it turned off the road, and pulled into the gated driveway of a lavish estate.

Frank pulled to the side of the road and parked outside the wall. He turned off the engine and sat there, debating with himself as to his best course of action. He could wait a couple of hours, and let it get darker – that would be the smartest thing to do, of course – but impatience was bubbling up within him. _Face it, Hardy, you don't want to do the wise thing, you want to find the people who drugged Joe and dumped him!_ He sat back and thought, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he looked at the wall beside him. _I wonder how many people live inside that place? And are they all behind the theft, or just Zacary? If it's just one or two people, then going in now might not be such a big deal…._

Prudence demanded a backup plan. Frank took out his cell phone and called Phil.

"Phil? Frank. I've tailed Zacary out to an estate near Hill Point – yeah, funny coincidence, huh?" He looked for street signs, and house numbers, and told Phil his approximate location. "Listen, the reason I called…just in case something happens to me, I wanted you to know where I was. Now listen: if I don't call back by, say, midnight, can you call the police and tell them to come look for me?"

" _What are you going to do?"_ Phil demanded.

"I'm going to look for Allison's violin, of course," Frank said coolly. "I'll take pictures and then use them to convince the police to question Zac and whoever else. I want these people – whoever they are – to be arrested for what they did, both to Alli and Joe!"

" _Frank, that sounds risky,"_ Phil demurred. _"Remember what happened when_ _Joe_ _tried to investigate that place!"_

"Believe me, I remember," Frank grated. "I'll call you when I've found what I need to find – or I'll expect you to send in the cavalry, pal!"

He ended the call and leaned back in his seat, closing his eyes as he waited for dusk to arrive. He didn't want to sleep, but he wanted to relax, and stay calm – so he used a technique he'd found very effective in the past. Smiling, he pictured Megan in his mind's eye – _the way she smiles…that dimple that appears and disappears like magic…her laugh. The way her eyes shine when she's happy…the way she looked – not at the hospital, but when we went out Saturday night…._

###

At last, twilight fell. Frank quietly exited the car and found a place where he could climb over the brick wall. He boosted himself up, then carefully jumped down on the other side, into the soft grass.

He walked toward the mansion, moving stealthily from tree to tree, taking time, when he neared the building, to peer through each of the windows within range. From what he could see, everything on the first floor was dark and deserted, save for a couple of entry lights. He used his little flashlight sparingly, only when necessary.

 _I need to get up higher…._ After some searching, Frank located a tree which he thought might serve his purpose. He was about to climb up when he noticed something peculiar. Two things. The first was a broken branch, lying askew next to the tree.

And the other – startlingly evident in the flashlight's gleam on the velvety grass – was a small patch of what appeared to be dried blood.


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 21

"Hello, Vanessa." Megan stepped into Joe's hospital room and stood behind her friend, gently squeezing her shoulders. "How are you doing?"

The blonde girl turned her head and smiled a little. "Hi. Thanks for coming." She didn't answer the question as to her own well-being.

"No need for thanks." Megan sat down in the other chair and surveyed Joe without speaking. She was a little taken aback at the monitors and tubes still attached to him, but realized that of course the hospital personnel were keeping a close eye on his progress. Vanessa, too, sat silent, gazing abstractedly at the floor, where late-afternoon sunlight spread pools of warmth.

Finally, the younger girl stirred and spoke. "Mr. and Mrs. Hardy have both been in and out, but they went to get something to eat a little while ago. Letting me have some time alone with Joe…nice, huh?"

"Very nice," Megan agreed gently.

"Megan—" Vanessa's voice was choked with the onset of tears. "he hasn't moved at all. It's like he was…was…dead…." Vanessa dropped her face into her hands and wept. Megan got up and put her arms around her friend, and held her close, letting her cry.

Vanessa finally wiped away her tears and sat back in her seat. "It was bad enough when they just thought he was hurt, but now…now…"

"What's happened?" Megan asked sharply.

"When the blood tests came back, they f-found that there was Rohypnol in Joe's bloodstream – that's one of those drugs that knocks people out, you know? They think someone forced it down him – or injected him with it, maybe – after he hurt his head. And no one seems to know what that combination of things will do to him." She chuckled bitterly. "I guess it doesn't happen very often, huh?" 

Megan gasped in horror. "That's terrible! That's just awful, that someone could do that to Joe!" She hugged Vanessa again, trying to lend some comfort.

"And – and now – the d-doctor said – he said that he doesn't know when…or if…Joe will wake up," Vanessa quavered. "I'm trying to be strong, I really am. I know Joe's strong….But I'm s-so s-scared, and upset…and all I want to do is cry and cry…." Abandoning her attempts at control, Vanessa put her head down, buried her face in the blanket covering Joe, and sobbed heartbrokenly.

Megan, her own eyes filling with sympathetic tears, hugged and patted and soothed as best she could, until Vanessa finally sat back and tried to wipe some of the dampness from her face.

"Your mom called me," Megan admitted softly. "She was worried about you, honey. She told me you said you didn't want to go to graduation if Joe can't be there." Carefully, Megan did _not_ say what Andrea had said: _'She won't go if Joe doesn't make it.'_ That sounded much too final!

Vanessa nodded emphatically, sniffled, and blew her nose on a tissue. "Yes, that's right. I won't go if Joe doesn't. I'm not that enthused about the actual ceremony anyway – but I loved the idea of walking in with Joe, hand-in-hand, in our caps and gowns – and I don't want to go through it without him. It's that simple."

Megan thought about that for a little while, still patting Vanessa gently. "Maybe I'm wrong, here," she said at last, "but have you thought about going through it FOR Joe? If he ends up not being able to do it himself, I mean? You could get his diploma for him – not only be there for yourself, but stand proxy for him." Vanessa opened her mouth to protest, but Megan continued without letting her interrupt. "Wouldn't that be better, Van? To let people know that he's down – temporarily – but he's not totally out?"

Vanessa stared at her friend glumly, and sighed. "You're right – as usual. I hadn't thought of it that way. Why do you always have to be right, Megan, darn you?"

The little redhead chuckled. This wasn't the first time she'd fielded a question like this, and the opportunity was too good to miss; Vanessa had walked right into it. "I'm always Wright – and I'll always BE Wright – until I marry and change my name, that is!"

Vanessa spluttered and nearly choked on a combination of laughter and tears, and hugged Megan fiercely.

"I know how you feel, though," Megan went on at last. "I'd just lost my dad when I graduated last year." Vanessa bit her lip in compunction; she'd known that, but had forgotten. "I didn't feel like going through the ceremony; it seemed so pointless – but I did. I did it because my mother told me how proud Dad would have been. How proud he was, even if he wasn't there in person to see it. That's how I know you should do this for Joe…but Van, you don't have anything to worry about, because Joe IS going to wake up in time, and he'll be there to walk the walk with you! I know he will! Joe's too stubborn to do anything other than that."

Vanessa managed a shaky laugh. "He's doing this just to get out of rehearsals," she suggested.

"Exactly!" Megan pounced on the idea. "He'll wake up when he's good and ready, and you can give him what-for, for scaring everyone so."

The two girls lapsed into silence for a few minutes, broken eventually by Vanessa.

"I want him to be there, Megan," she whispered. "I want him there so bad! I don't think I can stand it if he's not!"

"And he will be," the other girl assured her. "Joe won't let you down, you know that. If there's anyone a person can depend on, it's Frank and Joe."

"Uh-huh." Another period of silence, then Vanessa spoke again. "I haven't had a chance to tell you about our dinner at _Miracles Can Happen_ on Saturday. That is the most amazing place, Megan, you and Frank have  got to go there!" With rising enthusiasm, Vanessa described the décor, the food, and the things Joe had said when he gave her the locket.

"It was one of the happiest nights of my life – what Joe said was – just…incredible. He told me I'd taught him how to love again, when he thought he couldn't anymore. He said I'd brought light and warmth into his life…" Vanessa broke off, unable to continue, as she compared the memory of Joe's animated, tender face that night with the shuttered, withdrawn expression she saw now.

A light knock on the door interrupted their conversation. An orderly was there, holding towels and bathing supplies.

"Sorry to interrupt, ladies, but I'm here to give young Mr. Hardy a bath. You want him to be all nice and clean when he wakes up, don't you? He's a mighty lucky guy, to have you pretty girls visiting him!"

Blushing pink, both Megan and Vanessa nodded and hastily got to their feet.

"I'll need about fifteen minutes or so," the orderly continued. "Maybe you can go get something to eat, or drink; stretch your legs, maybe."

"All right," Vanessa assented, and she and Megan exited the room. For a moment they stood in the hallway, indecisive about what to do.

"Are you hungry?" Megan inquired. She glanced at her watch. "It's after four – did you have lunch? It's early for dinner."

"No, I didn't, but I'm not hungry," Vanessa responded. "Let's just take a walk, or something."

The girls started down the hallway, heading for the elevators, but halfway there, they encountered one of the nurses who had been looking after Joe. She smiled warmly at them.

"Hi, girls. How's Joe doing?"

"About the same, I guess," Megan replied. "An orderly just came in to give him a bath – that's why we're out here."

The nurse looked surprised. "A bath? That can't be right – all the baths on this floor were already done, earlier today. I did Joe's myself!"

"Oh, NO!" Megan and Vanessa looked at each other in shock, and as one, turned and pelted back down the hallway as fast as they could go, with the nurse hurrying behind.

They hurled themselves through the doorway to Joe's room, just in time to see the orderly pull a needle out of a bottle he was holding in his hand. The man looked up, startled, and more swiftly than a striking snake, plunged the needle into Joe's arm!

#####

Frank knelt beside the splotch of blood, studying it intently. He couldn't say for sure that it was Joe's blood, of course, but he was almost positive it had to be. Who else's would it be, after all? He touched it with a fingertip, then sat back on his heels, staring meditatively at the broken branch beside him. He picked one end up and held it for a moment, frowning at it as if he expected it to talk to him and tell him what had happened to his brother.

The branch, however, remained uncooperative, and Frank was forced to rely on himself to find the answers. He looked up into the tree, and could clearly see where this branch had broken off. With sudden clarity, he realized that this must have been how Joe was initially knocked out. _The branch broke, and he fell – no one_ _hit_ _him on the head!_ Now he noticed the thorns protruding from the branches, and another puzzle was solved _: that's how Joe got all scratched up – climbing through the thorny branches, and then falling!_

But that didn't explain the Rohypnol!

Still frowning thoughtfully, Frank got to his feet and played his flashlight around the base of the tree, over the sweetly-scented flowers growing about it. He noticed a small indentation in the foliage, and reached down to see if he could find the cause….

And came up holding a small electronic device that he recognized: Joe's new mini-recorder. _Bingo!_

 _If I didn't have proof before, I sure do now! This is definitely Joe's new recorder. This is the mansion that Joe followed the other car to. He didn't tell me what it was, so I can't identify a car, damn it…. This is where he was last…_ _whole_ _!_ Frank concluded bitterly.

 _All right, now I need to check on the violin, since that's what this whole thing was about in the first place….Why in the world would that kid, Zacary, have taken Allison's violin? He's a_ _cellist_ _, not a violinist, and he doesn't appear to need any money!_ Frank looked at his surroundings in the twilit dimness. _Very nice digs…fancy grounds, three story house, very big, nothing but the best…._ He shook his head; it made no sense at all.

He stole up to the nearest windows and tried a couple, hoping to find one open, but didn't have any luck with them; everything on the ground floor appeared to be tightly locked against intrusion. At last he spotted a set of French doors that _might_ open – but they were on the next level; opening onto a small patio that extended over a part of the lower level of the house. _Looks like that's my best bet!_

Frank shinnied up another tree, grateful that the owner of this place appreciated trees so much, and had planted many of them close to the house! Some careful balancing and quiet scrambling brought him at last to a safe landing on the little patio. He crept silently across it, and peered through the glass panes of the door.

It was dark inside, but he could see enough to know this wasn't a bedroom. It appeared to be a library or a den; at least there were a lot of _shelves_ visible! With some trepidation, Frank tried the door, and thrilled when it opened to his gentle efforts!

Cautiously, silently, he slipped through the door, and closed it gently behind him. He walked soundlessly across the room, to the doorway leading into the rest of the house, and found himself looking into a long hallway. He wasn't sure where to begin looking for the violin; all he could do was hope and pray that it was out in the open, somewhere.

"But, Uncle Peter…" the sound of a voice, coming from down the hall, caused Frank to freeze, and then quickly squeeze into an empty room. He listened intently, but could only catch a few words here and there. It was Zacary, he was sure of that, and apparently the person he was speaking to was named Peter, but other than that, Frank could not follow the conversation. He waited breathlessly until the voices moved into the hallway and faded away, moving further and further from his hiding place.

Trying to move even more soundlessly than before, Frank continued his infiltration. He eventually found a set of stairs, and tiptoed down them, hoping that the violin was kept in a living room, or one of the other downstairs rooms. Since all the people occupying the house seemed to be upstairs, _down_ was the safest place to be, at any rate!

The living room, when he found it, felt like a museum. Lit at one end by a showcase light shining directly on one wall, it was filled with antiques, from Ming vases to medieval swords – but nothing resembling musical instruments! Even the furniture was very old – and probably very expensive, as well. It was interesting, and beautiful, but no help to Frank in his quest.

He exited the living room and went down another hallway into another room, also dimly lit with soft little spotlights. Not daring to turn on more lights, Frank shined his flashlight around – and saw that his instincts had been good. He'd hit pay dirt, he was sure of it! This was definitely a music room, if the large grand piano in one corner was any indication. He noticed several other musical instruments as well, both brass and string varieties.

And then Frank stopped, frozen in wonder, peering at one particular floor-to-ceiling glass case.

On the floor of the case rested a large, many-stringed, ornately decorated harp. Frank had no doubt whatsoever that it was of the highest quality, and very expensive. Next to it stood a string bass, and above it, in its own separate compartment, was a cello…and above that there was a violin.

 _Allison's Strad!_ Although he had no proof – indeed, going on an intuitive leap which would have made Joe envious – Frank was positive this was Allison's stolen instrument. He stared at the one remaining empty spot in the case – where, he assumed, a viola would go. Did that mean that they didn't _have_ a viola – yet?

Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out his tiny camera. He shot frame after frame – tempted to just take the violin and depart with it, but he was afraid if he did that, then the men responsible for hurting Joe would not be prosecuted. He knew enough of criminal procedures – _it's about time those classes did me some good!_ – to know about unlawfully-obtained evidence. Even the pictures were a bit on the questionable side. The fact that he was in the house at all was damning as well. _But if I can get someone to come look at the blood by the tree –_ _legally_ _– then I can convince them to look inside. And they'll find Alli's violin!_

Finally finishing snapping photos, Frank was about to depart as silently as he had come, when he felt his arm seized in an iron grip. A gruff voice spoke behind him:

"If you even think about moving, you're going to lose that arm – and a lot more than that!"


	22. Chapter 22

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann, Max2013 and LaurieQ for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 22

Megan reacted without conscious volition, before she even realized what she was doing. She snatched up a tray lying atop a cabinet near the door, and hurled it at the fake orderly, who was trying to shoot something – a possibly lethal something! – into Joe's arm.

The man emitted a yowl as the tray struck him, and fell back. His grip loosened on the syringe, leaving it hanging with the needle still embedded in Joe's arm.

Vanessa had reacted almost as rapidly as Megan, and she lunged forward toward the bed. Her foot shot out, and she savagely kicked the man who was attempting to hurt her boyfriend. He yelped again, as her shoe connected with his leg.

Arriving just seconds behind the girls, the nurse leaped to grab the syringe, and pulled it carefully from Joe's arm. She leaned protectively over her patient, attempting to shield him from further attack.

The orderly, although beset on all sides, did not give up easily. He shoved Vanessa roughly backwards, knocking her to the floor. She fell with a cry of dismay, and the man plunged past her, heading towards the door – only to be tripped up by Megan, who shoved her foot directly into his path!

"Van! Grab him!" she shrieked, as the man fell heavily to the floor, and followed her own advice, flinging herself at his ankles and holding on, despite his struggles. Vanessa scrambled across the floor and threw herself on top of the guy's back, effectively pinning him down.

The nurse, wide-eyed and aghast at this incredible turn of events, had edged around the fray to get to the door. Now she put her head into the hallway and yelled "Security! STAT!" at the top of her lungs. Almost immediately there came the sound of running in the hall, and nurses and other hospital personnel crowded into the room.

Their adversary continued to struggle, attempting to throw the girls off himself, and snarling threats and imprecations, but the two were determined to keep him subdued and away from Joe. Vanessa straddled his back, clutched his hair in her hand, and pushed his face hard against the linoleum flooring; while tiny Megan, feeling as if she had taken up alligator wrestling, plumped herself firmly onto his ankles, gripped tightly, and sat there, refusing to be dislodged. She grinned triumphantly at Vanessa, her dimple showing deeply in her cheek. She could see that while Van was still worried, and casting apprehensive glances at Joe, she was quite proud of what they had just done! _Maybe this is the guy who hurt Joe to begin with!_ Megan thought, happily. _And we caught him!_

It seemed like eons, but two security guards arrived in just a few minutes, and took Joe's assailant into custody. Megan and Vanessa picked themselves up off the floor, and began to explain what had happened. Their story was corroborated by the nurse, who displayed the syringe he had attempted to use.

"Okay, we'll call the police, and keep him locked up until they get here to take him away," one of the guards assured them, and they departed, hauling the sullen prisoner between them.

While they waited for the arrival of the Bayport officers, several helpful nurses took charge of the shaken Megan and Vanessa, who were suddenly feeling a reaction to what had just occurred, and brought them sodas and coffee from the waiting room. They carefully checked Joe's condition, and placed the syringe safely away from tampering. The girls were assured that no harm had come to Joe; although the needle had penetrated his skin, it appeared that none of the contents had left the syringe – for which they were extremely thankful!

###

When at last the police arrived, Megan and Vanessa leaped to their feet with relieved smiles, for one of the officers was none other than Lieutenant Con Riley!

"Oh, Lieutenant Riley, we're so glad it's you!" Vanessa felt as if she could have gladly hugged the tall policeman. Con patted her shoulder, and gestured for her and Megan to resume their seats.

"I take a personal interest in things having to do with the Hardy family," he said cheerily, and instructed his partner to handle taking the suspect into custody while he talked to the girls. Con listened intently and took notes, while the nurse, Megan and Vanessa told what they had seen, and done.

"Has there been any change in Joe's condition?" he inquired of the nurse, who shook her head.

"No, but there would have been if that man succeeded, I'm sure!" she replied indignantly. "Luckily, we stopped him before he actually injected anything. He didn't get to push down on the plunger."

"Okay, we'll take this as evidence," Con said, carefully bagging the syringe, "and we'll let you know as soon as possible what's in it."

"Check for Rohypnol first, or something like it," Megan suggested. "After all, these people used it on Joe once already!"

Con nodded somberly, willing to heed her advice. Just as he was leaving, however, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy arrived, immediately alarmed at Con's unexpected presence. Megan and Vanessa breathlessly related what had just occurred, while Laura and Fenton listened, aghast.

"I'm going with Con," Fenton announced brusquely, at the end of the recital. "I want to find out if this man is behind everything, or just a hireling."

Laura sighed, almost imperceptibly, but didn't bother arguing. She kissed her husband goodbye, then turned and followed the girls back to Joe's room.

Joe hadn't stirred. He was still unconscious. He looked almost as if he was sleeping, and it was obvious that he had no idea what had gone on around him. Laura smoothed his hair gently, and kissed his cheek, then turned to the watching girls.

"Okay, I'll hold down the fort for awhile. You two go grab something to eat – or better yet, Vanessa, go home and get some rest. You've been here all day."

"No – no, I don't want to leave yet," she protested, and Laura smiled understandingly.

"Okay, honey, okay – but really, go and take a break. I'll track you down, if anything happens."

#####

"You think he'll be able to follow Zacary wherever he's going?" Matt queried, as he and Phil waited for Allison to finish packing up Angel's violin. "Man, why didn't we go with him? Or follow separately?"

"I don't know," Phil shrugged, "but I think you're right. It would have been the smart thing to do. I don't think Frank should have gone off alone any more than Joe should have, on Sunday." He draped an arm about Allison's shoulders. "After we drop Alli at the dorm, let's go back to the apartment. Maybe he'll call."

The walk to the Julliard dorms was a pleasant one, despite their worry over Frank's situation. They discussed the case, and Allison voiced her agreement with Phil that Zacary Stein was an unlikely suspect – despite all the evidence mounting against him!

"Phil, call me if you hear from Frank," Allison begged, as Phil kissed her goodbye. "Let me know if you hear anything about him, or Joe, or…anything."

"I will," he promised. "Don't worry, Alli."

"I'll try," she murmured disconsolately, and departed for her room.

Phil looked around, seeking his erratic roommate, who appeared to have wandered off for the moment. After a bit, Phil figured out where Matt had gone: to find Macey. Sure enough, Matt showed up a few minutes later, accompanied by a thin, leggy girl with short-cropped dark brown hair and long, sparkly-spangled earrings. Macey was medium-height for a girl, which made her only slightly shorter than Matt, and as usual, she was chewing on a wad of bubble gum. Every time he saw her, Phil was freshly amazed that such an amazingly powerful and beautiful singing voice could come from this ordinary-looking young woman; she could sing like an angel!

"Hi, Macey," he smiled, and she grinned and popped her bubble gum in reply.

"I wanna talk to Allison," she said. "I want her to catch me up on all this stuff you guys are doing, that Matt won't tell me!" She fluttered her fingers in farewell at the boys, and turned to re-enter the dormitory, blowing a kiss to Matt as she did so. "Later, stud…."

Matt winked at her and growled deep in his throat…and let Phil drag him away, in the direction of the lot where Allison had left Phil's car when she drove in from her parents' home.

Phil and Matt walked the three-block distance from their favorite parking garage in virtual silence, each busy with his own disturbing thoughts. Entering their apartment they were both relieved and worried to find no messages on the answering machine: relieved that no one had called with threats – worried that _Frank_ hadn't called with news.

"Hey, man, you want something to eat?" Matt glanced at the clock on the microwave. "It's been awhile since lunch."

"Not very hungry," Phil said. He paced, restlessly. "I wish Frank would call."

Matt set about rummaging through the freezer compartment, and cupboards. Eventually, he opened a can of chili. While it was heating, the telephone rang, and Phil leaped to answer it. He nodded at Matt, mouthing ' _Frank_ ,' and continued with the conversation. Matt listened to the half he could hear, and avidly demanded to know what was going on, once Phil hung up.

When Phil explained Frank's request, Matt evinced keen disappointment. "Man, I wish I'd gone with him!" he mourned. "It would have been totally rad to be able to do a stake-out!"

"Been there, done that," Phil told him. "Believe me, it's not all it's cracked up to be!" He yawned. "Okay, so how are we going to work this, tonight? I have to be at the store tomorrow morning early; I'm opening. I probably should go to bed and try to get a little sleep. I can set my alarm for eleven."

"Go ahead and catch some Zees – I can flag the phone calls. I'll call Allison, since you promised we'd tell her if we heard anything; and I'll wake you up if Frank doesn't call in time." Matt surveyed his roommate critically. "Go on, dude, go to bed," he reiterated. "You look worn out."

"I am – it was worth it, though," Phil mumbled, with a reminiscent smile. He and Matt exchanged knowing looks – and cheesy grins.

###

Phil had just managed to get comfortable and was starting to doze off when he was roused by the sound of someone pounding on the front door. He groaned and pulled a pillow over his head, figuring that Matt could handle whoever had arrived. But after a few seconds, he heard yelling – and he recognized the voice!

He sighed deeply and climbed back out of bed, pulling on shorts and a t-shirt before he went out to confront their uninvited guest: Robert DuChais! The Frenchman was standing in the doorway, arguing with Matt, and evidently trying to enter the apartment.

"Robert!" Phil snapped. "Go away. I'm tired, and I don't have the patience to deal with you and your obsessions tonight."

Robert tried to push past Matt, who sidestepped and blocked his way again. "Did you get my messages, Phil?" he demanded, attempting to shove Matt away.

Phil blinked sleepily. "What messages? There wasn't anything on the answering machine – and I haven't checked my voice mail today."

Robert snarled, and pointed to the wall – the wall where the knife had been. "That message – and the other one, the one delivered by brick!" he spat. "Can't you read? GO AWAY!" he shrieked, suddenly.

Phil stared, dumbfounded. "YOU did the knife? YOU threw the brick through the Lewis' window? Robert, are you totally crazy? You could have hurt somebody, badly!"

Without replying, Robert suddenly broke past Matt and lunged at Phil, knocking the boy to the floor. Phil squirmed away, trying to get the enraged French musician off of him, but Robert pounced on him, managed to wrap his hands about Phil's throat, and began to squeeze!

Struggling, Phil grabbed for the obsessed Robert's hands to pull them from his throat, but the man seemed possessed of inhuman strength, and Phil couldn't manage to loosen his grip. He suddenly realized that hours and hours of repetitive practicing a musical instrument developed incredibly strong fingers!

"Allison is mine…she is mine, do you hear?" With each hissed repetition, the encompassing hands seemed to tighten a bit more. "She is not yours, Cohen, you mangy devil, she is mine. MINE! She belongs to me, and you will never see her again…because I am going to kill you, Cohen, I am going to kill you NOW!" Another inexorable tightening of the fingers encircling Phil's neck. "I will never let you soil Allison again, do you hear? You had your warnings—"

"Robert, you're nuts…" Phil tried to tell the maddened Robert, but nothing emerged from his abused throat but a few croaking noises. He was already starting to see spots dancing in front of his eyes, as his air supply diminished.

Suddenly, Robert's grip on his throat loosened, and the other man was dragged backwards – by Matt Eckersley, who gripped the insane Frenchman's wrist with both hands, flinging all his slight weight against Robert and trying to knock him to the floor. The two struggled violently, Matt yelling all the while:

"Phil, call the police, man, this guy's like totally lost his mind! I'll hold him off – ooooofff!" He doubled over as one of Robert's fists connected with his stomach, but managed to keep his grip. "Phil, HURRY UP!" he gasped.

Phil struggled to his feet and staggered towards the phone, holding his throat. He wasn't sure he could talk, but he managed to wave at his embattled roommate, assuring him that he would summon help – but before he reached the telephone, Robert managed to break free of Matt's clutches, and hurled himself at Phil again, knocking him down once more!

"Matt – call – police!" Phil managed to rasp. "Like NOW!" He seized one of Robert's hands with both his own, struggling to keep the other man from strangling him again. "Robert – for God's sake, stop!"

Robert, apparently gone completely over the edge into insanity, didn't listen to anything Phil said. He kept babbling frantically, repeating himself; insisting that Allison was his, that Phil would never touch her again, that he would make sure of it – "by destroying you, Cohen!"

Phil could hear Matt's voice in the background, sharp and demanding: "I mean it, man, this is no prank! There's a crazy man in our apartment, trying to kill my roommate – yeah! The address is—" His words were drowned out by Robert's voluble diatribe, but Phil heard the phone slammed back into its cradle, and suddenly Matt was beside him again, trying to help control the maddened Robert.

Phil half-expected to see Robert foaming at the mouth, as Matt dragged him away; the crazed Frenchman was hurling abuse in two languages and still attempting to throttle Phil. Phil caught his breath, trying to ignore the pain in his throat, and threw himself back into the fray. He finally managed to get a headlock on Robert, and held on as tightly as he could. _Man, I wish I'd taken some of those martial arts classes with Frank, back in high school!_

The sound of sirens outside was a welcome relief, but it seemed to alert and energize Robert once more, for he struggled anew, violently trying to break free of Matt's and Phil's grasp. Suddenly, he roared something incomprehensible, and shoved himself backward, pushing them away.

Phil staggered back and stumbled. He felt his skull collide with something hard and unyielding, and his head filled with a ringing echo as stars shot across his vision….


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to Cherylann and Max2013 for the kind commentary.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 23

"Phil! Come on man, give me a hand, here!" Phil could dimly hear his roommate's voice, begging him to respond, but for a few moments all he could do was lie there, holding his aching head. He wondered if it would fall off his shoulders if he let go. His head throbbed, his throat hurt, his body ached. _Maybe it would have been easier to just let Robert strangle me, and have it all over with!_ But he knew better – there was no way he was about to let that creep win out!

Slowly, groaning with pain as he attempted to move, Phil finally struggled to a sitting position, and to his shock, he saw Matt _still_ wrestling with Robert! _Doesn't that guy ever give up?_ As much as he wanted to help Matt, Phil couldn't seem to manage to get to his feet. He tried once, then again, but was forced to sit down again, as the room spun dizzily about him. He felt for his glasses, wondering if the reason he couldn't see clearly was that he'd lost them somewhere in the scuffle, but they were on his face, where they belonged. Matt seemed to have finally managed to control Robert, he noted vaguely.

A pounding on the door and the shout of "POLICE! Open up!" was a welcome interruption. Matt, swearing a blue streak, dragged Robert with him to the door to open it, keeping a fierce hold on the larger man. Once he was sure the officers weren't going to allow Robert to escape, Matt hurried across the room and knelt beside Phil, who was still only dimly aware of what was going on.

"Phil – dude, can you hear me? Are you okay? C'mon, man, talk to me." Matt put a steadying arm about his shoulders. "Phil?"

"I…guess…okay…" The rasping reply was barely audible.

A new voice inserted itself into Phil's awareness. "Can you tell us what happened here?" He blinked dazedly up and realized it was one of the uniformed NYPD officers talking to him. Phil cleared his throat gingerly, and concentrated on replying.

"It's – his name – is Robert DuChais," he croaked. "He used to…date my girlfriend, Allison…Allison Lewis. He – he's obsessed with her. He came here, and attacked…me…because—"

Robert interrupted him, shrieking from across the room: "Allison is MY girlfriend; she's not his! She belongs to ME!" The officers exchanged significant looks; it was patently obvious to everyone that Robert was not mentally stable!

"Okay, we'll get him to a hospital psych ward," grunted the officer beside Phil and Matt. He reached for his radio. "In the meantime, I'm calling the EMTs to take a look at you, young fella."

"No – no, I don't need…" Phil broke off, coughing, and put a hand to his aching throat.

Matt, who astonishingly seemed to have turned into a ferocious guard and protector, hushed him firmly. "Dude, you're going to be checked over, and it's either going to be here, or I'll take you to an emergency room myself. So shut up. Stop trying to talk, now. I mean it!"

Phil subsided, too exhausted to argue. He allowed Matt and the officer to assist him to the sofa, and watched listlessly as Robert was taken away. The paramedic team, a man and woman, arrived, and the police officers departed, reminding Matt that formal statements would need to be taken soon.

Phil submitted to the medics' examination without protest, but when they suggested a trip to the emergency room might be in order, he adamantly refused.

"You could have a concussion, and that throat should really be looked at by a doctor," the woman counseled him, as she flashed her penlight into his eyes to check the pupil reaction.

"No – it's okay," Phil asserted. To his surprise, he found his voice was already returning to normal. "It might purple up, but it doesn't really hurt all that much any more." He sat up, cautiously. "And my head is starting to clear. I really don't want to go to the hospital; I'd rather rest at home. I promise, if I start to feel worse again, I'll get to a doctor right away."

"You got that right, man," Matt put in. "If he feels worse and doesn't go in, I'll drag him there by the hair if I have to." He glared at Phil. "You hear me, dude?"

"I hear," Phil meekly replied.

The paramedics left, reluctantly, and Phil collapsed back onto the couch while Matt closed the door behind them and slipped the safety chain into place.

"We've had enough visitors for one night," he muttered. "Well, now we know who was behind the knife in the wall! Freakin' idiot!"

"It seems so obvious, now." Phil sighed and shook his head, and immediately regretted it _. Guess I'd better just lie still…for a little while. Then I'll get up and go back to bed…._

He could hear Matt talking a mile a minute about something or other, but Phil blanked out the words. Before he realized it, he had dozed off.

#####

Frank froze, and stayed immobile, holding his breath, as the man continued to grip his arm, but when his captor began to turn him around, Frank spun into the turn, and lashed out with one foot, catching the man in the ankle and causing him to cry out in pain. The grip on Frank's arm loosened, and he broke free. He started running, heading for the front door, but before he could even reach the other side of the room, his adversary lunged after him and tackled him to the floor.

Frank grunted at the impact, but twisted and kicked out sharply again, trying to escape the man's hold on him long enough to gain the front door – and freedom. _Of course I'll have to get over the wall, and into my car before I'm caught,_ he realized bleakly, _but I'll worry about that when I get there!_

Managing to struggle free once more, Frank made another break for the door – and skidded to a halt. Standing directly in front of him was an old man – and that elderly man was holding a gun trained directly on the elder Hardy boy!

Frank froze in his tracks, and the first man came up behind him and yanked his arms behind his back.

"So…" the old man remarked calmly. "You must be the other Hardy brother. You have been quite a bit of trouble for me and my family."

"I'm Frank Hardy," Frank conceded.

"Why was it that you disregarded all of the warnings that were sent, young man? Surely you have some common sense, don't you?"

Frank shrugged. "I don't give up that easily. Neither does my brother Joe. Not when a friend is involved, or someone is hurt. You took something that didn't belong to you – something that belongs to a friend of ours. That was bad enough – but even worse, you hurt my brother, doing it. That's what you're going to pay for—"

"Pah!" The elderly man shrugged in his turn, continuing to hold the gun steadily, amazingly level for such an old guy, Frank noted. Behind him, the other man was busily tying Frank's hands together behind his back, with what felt like packing cord. Frank grimaced as he felt the cord cutting into his wrists; whoever was doing the tying was very good at it. He wondered just how much experience the fellow had had at this sort of thing before!

The old man motioned with his gun toward the hallway, and Frank obediently moved in that direction. He was led back to the lavish living room, where he was instructed to sit down on the ornate couch. Another light was switched on, and Frank, looking around curiously, was once again struck with the feeling that he had stepped into a museum. He was surrounded by priceless objects of antiquity. _This guy is a_ _serious_ _collector…and I wonder just how much of it he owns –_ _legally_ _!_

Looking directly at the old man for the first time – prior to this, Frank's attention had been trained on the gun – the boy abruptly realized who this man was…or, rather, and more importantly, who he was related to. Had to be related to…for all he was much older than the man who had originally been presented with the priceless viola in Austria.

Jakob Steiner. Zacary Stein. Zacary Stein-ER. Yes, things were making more sense, now.

"You took all of them, didn't you?" Frank asked, quietly, staring into the deep-set, cold blue eyes of the old man. "You took the harp, the cello, and the string bass. And Allison's violin. You're missing the viola—"

"You talk too much!" The man's eyes went flinty, and he raised the gun again. "Maybe you shouldn't talk so much about things you don't understand!"

 _Keep him talking…make him explain. Use some time, Hardy, use some time!_ "Will you help me understand, then?" Frank asked gently. "I'll try to understand. If you tell me, maybe I would."

The man gazed at him silently for some moments, apparently considering whether or not to accede to Frank's request. While he pondered, Frank became aware of other eyes on them – the man who had tied him up, and another person – Zacary Stein, looking scared, but defiant.

"I am Ernst Steiner," the old man said, at last. "And this is my son, Peter. My grandson Zacary, I believe you have seen before. The viola originally belonged to my father, Jakob Steiner. He was presented it by the Archduke of Austria himself, and he played it nobly and honorably for nearly thirty years. It was a most beautiful period – I can remember it still, hearing my father play to me when I was small. It was a magical time. I grew up with dreams of one day taking up my father's viola to play as well – to be as good as he was, and to receive as many accolades."

He paused briefly, evidently caught up in his memories.

"My father managed to keep the viola safe, through the first Great War. And somehow, despite all the desperate times in Europe following, to keep it for many years after that, still playing, still bringing cheer to those who heard. After the War, before the great depression hit Austria, there was a grand tour with him and the other four. It was a most successful tour; they played in many countries, for many people. And everywhere they went, they were revered and honored for their skill."

Frank yawned, involuntarily. "Sorry – excuse me," he apologized. "Your story is fascinating, really. It's just that I didn't get much sleep last night…I was with my brother, at the hospital," he added, staring grimly at his captor.

Ernst Steiner narrowed his eyes. "You asked to hear, and you will listen to the rest of the story – and know the truth of all things."

"Yes, I will," Frank hastened to agree, and tried his best to stifle further yawns, for all he was very, very tired.

The old man took up the tale once more: "The grand tour ended in 1930. It had lasted a full year, a long time. During that time, I saw little of my father, naturally. We were nearly destitute, because of the terrible economic times. The great stock market crash of 1929, in the United States was exacerbated in Austria by the fall of the Hapsburg Monarchy, which caused the banks to crash. And yet, through it all, there was my father and his fellow musicians, playing their wondrous music, bringing brightness and cheer. To bring happiness to our country they went one last time to Vienna, the greatest of musical cities ever to exist in this world! And it was there – there, in that musical capital! – that one of the other four broke my father's prized instrument! His prize, won as theirs were won – broken, shattered, destroyed! And it deprived me of my long-held childhood dream. We could not afford another – it was all we could do to survive!"

Despite his weariness, Frank was becoming fascinated by this story. Ernst Steiner spoke in a lilting accent that made listening easy, and Frank could almost see the touring musicians as they traveled about the continent.

"We left Austria before the Nazis came," Steiner continued, "and moved first to Switzerland, and then here to America. But through it all, I knew my course. Even when we had money again, when we had the means to live, I knew what I would do. The others must pay – pay for what they had deprived me of! I have regained what is rightfully mine. And I will not give them up."

Frank was stunned. He could scarcely believe the old man's calm insistence that he had only taken what rightfully belonged to him. _Total obsession…_ his mind ticked. _Total fixation on this one goal…._

"How long have you had the other instruments?" Frank asked, aloud.

The old man smiled, evidently enjoying speaking of his precious instruments. "The harp, I got first – and quite legally, I might add. Arnolde Raich, the original owner, had to sell it during the depression, to feed his family. I was later able to buy it quite easily from the person who had originally purchased it, and that formed the beginning of the collection. The others," he admitted candidly, "I had to steal."

Frank gave a brief nod, not making any audible comment. _He's got enough money to buy anything he might want, now…_ the boy's mind ticked on. _Stealing them must have been a thrill, somehow…._

"First the string bass," Steiner recalled. "It was taken when it was being transported to the U.S. for a display, back in the 1950s, when security was lax. And then the cello in the 70s. I finally tracked down the owner, Lesimik, and my son Julian was able to take it from his house. The violin has been the most difficult – it took me some great time to find it, and to arrange to obtain it, for the girl who inherited it kept it very close to her. It was much luck that my grandson was able to join the same orchestra as she – for it gave me a way to obtain the instrument that was rightfully mine. You do see, young man, do you not, that I am taking only what belongs to me? I haven't taken any other instruments, nor do I intend to."

Frank moved his hands experimentally, testing his bonds, and winced as the cord dug into his wrists even more. "I don't see it quite the same way, Mr. Steiner. And how did Zacary get involved in this, anyway?" He glanced quickly at the boy, who dropped his eyes to the floor.

"Zacary's parents, my son Jon and his wife, were killed in an automobile accident when Zacary was very small," Ernst Steiner explained. "He was raised by me and his two uncles, Peter and Julian."

 _Brainwashed from the cradle_ , Frank thought grimly. "Mr. Steiner, do you have certain knowledge that one of the other musicians was responsible for damaging the viola? Isn't that just a guess on your part? You don't really have any proof."

"I don't need proof; my father didn't need proof," Steiner spat. "We knew the truth of it for ourselves!"

Frank wished he could go back in time and find out what had really happened. Now, it was a little late to discover the true facts of the matter – 70 years too late!

"Could I ask about one more thing?" he ventured. "My brother…"

Steiner _tsk-d_ , shaking his head. "That one! What a lot of trouble he caused! We found him in the yard, after he broke one of my trees! He was unconscious, his head cut. I thought it was just a common prowler, a thief – but Zacary recognized him!"

Frank shot a look at Zacary, who glanced up guiltily.

"I had seen him Friday night, after the concert," he muttered.

"We did not cause his hurt," the old man told Frank. "And Julian and Peter put him in his car and took him where he would be found."

"What about the Rohypnol?" Frank gritted. "Was that not 'causing him hurt'?"

Steiner shrugged dismissively. "It was just a precaution. We didn't wish for him to remember being here at all, and Julian assured me it would do him no lasting harm."

 _No lasting harm!_ Frank thought of Joe, lying still and white in the critical care unit of the hospital, with no one able to say for certain whether or not he would recover. Anger bubbled up in him.

"He may never wake up again!" he snapped, and saw both Zacary and his grandfather look startled – and guilty – in response. But the moment passed rapidly.

"That outcome was unintentional," the old man murmured. "And now, I must do something about you," Steiner said, fixing Frank with a stern eye. "It pains me to have to cause harm to anyone, but I will not allow you to take what I have worked so long and hard to acquire. You will have to be my guest for a little while – just a little while, until I can gain more of that drug which causes people to forget…or until I come up with some better way to keep you from telling what you know," he added thoughtfully. "Peter—" he beckoned to the man, who was evidently his son, and Frank was pulled to his feet. Ernst Steiner handed his gun to the other man, who pointed it at Frank and gestured toward the door.

"Rohypnol isn't going to make me forget what happened!" Frank said, remaining where he was. _What did this guy think, it was some sort of wonder drug? Just swallow it and you'll forget everything…._

"Then we will have to find a more effective way of silencing you," Steiner replied coldly, and motioned for his son to take Frank from the room.

"Zacary – you don't want Allison to lose her violin, do you?" Frank made one quick appeal to the boy, who stared at him with miserable dark eyes…and then turned away without answering.

After that, Frank went along obediently. _I just have to wait until midnight, when Phil calls in the cavalry!_ He kept his face blank, careful not to give any hint of what was going to happen; careful not to tip his hand.

Peter escorted him downstairs to the basement of the mansion, and led him to a room containing a bed, but little else. He seated Frank on the bed, and tied his wrists securely to the frame. Frank flinched slightly at the cruel bite of the cords; Peter Steiner either had a sadistic streak, or didn't realize how tightly he had bound the boy.

"Mr. Steiner," he ventured, "why are you doing this? You're not a criminal, and surely you must realize what your father is doing is wrong! Stealing the instruments was one thing, but now you've added what happened with my brother, and holding me prisoner, and—"

Peter Steiner held up a hand to silence him. Frank could see the desperation growing in the man's blue eyes, see the worried lines furrowing the grim face.

"Nothing I can do about it," he muttered. "It's too important to Dad. It would kill him to give them up." He narrowed his eyes at Frank. "Where's Julian?" he demanded, abruptly.

Frank blinked at him in total incomprehension. "I have no idea," he said honestly. Steiner peered closely at him, evidently suspecting a lie, but Frank met his gaze without flinching. "I really don't know," he reiterated. "I've never seen your brother, as far as I know." Inside, he wondered too – where _was_ Julian Steiner? Had something more happened, while Frank had been chasing Zacary and watching the Steiner estate, all afternoon and evening?

Steiner grumbled something beneath his breath, and pulled a large bandana handkerchief from a hip pocket. Before Frank quite realized what was happening, he found himself swiftly gagged. He glared hotly at his captor over the folds of cloth, but Peter Steiner seemed unfazed by his hostility.

"I'm sorry to do this to you," Peter told Frank as he left, "but I'm not about to betray my father now." He walked to the stairs, turned off the lights, and Frank was left alone in the dark.


	24. Chapter 24

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future. Also it was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 24

"Phil? Phil, wake up." Phil Cohen awoke to someone shaking his shoulder insistently. He groaned and attempted to pull away, trying to return to sleep, but the demanding voice wouldn't let him.

"Come on, dude, you gotta wake up now! It's almost midnight, man, come on! Frank hasn't called, we gotta go to the rescue!"

Matt's insistent prodding finally caused Phil to sit up and notice his surroundings…and take stock of himself. He was in the living room, on the couch…why wasn't he in bed, where he belonged? His throat hurt, but only a little. His head hurt a _lot_ , but at least he wasn't seeing double, and it was more a localized throbbing where he'd hit it, rather than a migraine-type headache. He was fairly sure he could get around.

Moving carefully, he got to his feet and went into the bathroom to wash his face, gulped down a couple of aspirins, then went to his bedroom to change into long pants and a clean shirt. At last he went out to face the exuberantly enthusiastic Matt, who was nearly prancing with impatience.

"Matt, listen to me—" he reminded his roommate, "We don't have to go rescue Frank, he just told us to call the police if he didn't check in, remember?"

Matt stared at him, chagrined. "Dude, you're not really going to just call the police, are you? I want to ride to the rescue, man! We can call the police when we're almost there, can't we?" he coaxed. "We can tell them we found his car there, dude, and then we can go in and help get Frank out! That's the ticket!"

Phil knew there were several things wrong with that scenario, but he couldn't quite put his finger on anything specific. _Maybe there's nothing wrong with it, maybe it's just my head that thinks so – and right now, my head's completely untrustworthy!_ "Is there any coffee – ah, good for you!" He poured himself a cup of the aromatic dark brew which Matt had evidently recently made, and took a sip – then shuddered and grimaced. "When are you going to learn to make decent coffee?" Phil demanded.

"I can make decent coffee, dude, but I was in a hurry!" Matt grinned. He picked up his own cup and took a large gulp. Evidently the taste didn't deter _him_!

"You must always be in a hurry then, because your coffee always tastes like dry rot!" Phil retorted. He dumped in a heaping teaspoon of sugar and tried again. _Drinkable, at least!_

Matt's usual goofy grin spread over his whole face. "Come on, man, hurry up!" he urged. "We're wasting time, let's go!"

Phil kept gulping the coffee as he and Matt walked to his car, and slowly began to feel slightly more alive. He slid into the driver's seat, trying to ignore the tormenting throbbing of his skull, and set out for Long Island. Beside him, Matt had subsided into tense silence.

"I wonder if we should call the Hardys – Frank's dad," Phil mused aloud. "They might be worried about Frank." He thought a little about that, and reconsidered. "But really, there's nothing they could do – I couldn't tell them anything, because I don't know anything!"

"Dude, they'll think he crashed at our place, and was too tired to call them," Matt stated reasonably. "You don't want them to worry any more than necessary, do you? Like you said, you – or they – can't do anything about it now."

Phil looked over at Matt's thin, intense face. For once his roommate's grin was absent, and his expression was entirely serious. Phil sighed. "Keep telling me that, Matt – if you say it enough times, I might even believe it!"

"What are we going to do when we get to this mansion place?" Matt wanted to know, anticipation growing in his voice once more.

"I don't know yet," Phil admitted. "But one thing I do know, we ARE going to call the police, because they're going to be needed! I don't think trying to break into the place on our own is a very hot idea!"

Matt shrugged in resignation. "It will still be exciting, though!" he smiled

"Why aren't you tired? Don't you ever need sleep?" Phil demanded testily, irritated by Matt's insouciance.

"Sure, I need sleep! But I'm not the one who was up all night, last night, and right now I'm too excited to think about sleep! I'm on a real case, man!" Matt bubbled. "I'm, like, a detective! Yeah!"

Phil laughed, despite himself. "You're not a detective yet, Eckersley."

"Close enough," Matt declared with a grin, "close enough!"

Feeling a little more good-natured now, thanks to Matt's clowning, the coffee, and the aspirin, Phil turned his thoughts to Allison _. If they find her violin, she'll be so happy!_ He imagined the look on her pretty, intense face, and grinned. The image actually helped to wake him up. _I'd much rather be with_ _her_ _than out here_ , he mused, _getting into who knows what kind of danger!_

Through the streets they went, and finally gained the semi-rural area of Hill Point. Phil found their destination by the simple expedient of seeing Frank's car parked by the roadside, next to a high brick wall, and pulled up behind it. He and Matt got out of their car and went to check the Saturn out, grateful for the light poles which lined the road.

Phil peered through the windows into the car's interior. _Definitely Frank's car…still has the temporary registration stuck on it, and there's his detective kit in the back seat!_ There was no sign of Frank anywhere, however, and Phil felt a qualm or two. _I hope nothing bad's happened to him!_

"What should we do next, dude?" Matt whispered, looking around anxiously through the gloom.

For answer, Phil pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and hit 9-1-1.

It took some fast talking and all the persuasion Phil could muster, to convince the emergency operator that this _wasn't_ a crank call, and that Phil was in deadly earnest about his missing friend, who might be in trouble, or hurt. She finally agreed to send a police cruiser out to meet them, on the double.

Phil disconnected, and looked around for his roommate, with a sinking heart. Where the hell had Matt wandered off to _now_? "Matt?" he whispered.

"Right here, dude," came the quiet reply, and whirling towards the sound of the voice, Phil espied Matt perched on top of the brick wall, wedged precariously between the iron spikes, his face plastered with a demonic grin.

"Get back down, RIGHT NOW, before you get in trouble!" Phil hissed in exasperation.

"Don't you want to get closer?" was Matt's only response. He stubbornly remained where he was. "Shouldn't we go see if Frank's inside?"

Phil gritted his teeth. "NO, I don't want to get closer, and I don't want to go see if Frank's inside!" he hissed. "That's why we're waiting for the police, you moron! We're doing this the right way. No short cuts. Now, get off that damned wall, right now!"

Matt sighed and grumpily slid off the wall, muttering complaints all the while. He slouched against it in the darkness, sulking. Phil leaned against Frank's car, wishing his headache would stop trying to pound its way outside of his skull. It had been better for a time but Matt's dramatics had brought it back.

The sound of a car's motor brought them both to attention, and Matt's eyes glinted with excitement when a police cruiser pulled up behind Phil's car. Two uniformed officers, one male and one female, got out and walked up to them.

"Okay, what's this all about?" the male half of the duo demanded suspiciously.

Phil explained – aided and abetted by Matt, which wasn't all that much help. It took more than one run-through to convince the officers, and they weren't very happy about the fact that Frank might or might not have broken into the estate, but finally they agreed to go in and check things out.

The button on the gate was located and pressed, and after a prolonged wait, a grumpy voice on the other end demanded to know what was wanted.

"Police officers," the woman replied. "We need to speak to someone inside the house."

After a brief moment, during which more than one of them held their breaths, there came a reluctant "okay," followed by a buzzing sound, and the lock on the gate snapped open.

The officers marched up the long walk, with Phil and Matt following closely behind while attempting to be as inconspicuous as possible. They went up to the front door, which opened at their approach. The female officer, whose name tag read **Kinsey** , spoke.

"We're looking for someone – a young man, tall, with dark hair. He seems to have gone missing, and his car was found parked outside your wall. Have you seen him, by any chance?"

The man who had opened the door – a husky, brown-haired man in his forties – shook his head. "No," he muttered crossly. "No one is here except me, my father, and my nephew. And we haven't seen anyone."

Kinsey eyed him speculatively. "Could we please look around inside?" she requested courteously.

"Do you have a warrant, or something?" growled the man.

"No, we don't," Kinsey kept her voice polite. "This is just a routine check."

"Then go check somewhere else!" the man snarled, and moved to slam the door shut in her face – but suddenly her partner, Officer Martinez, stepped forward and put his foot in the door, preventing its closure.

"Do we really need to go and get a warrant?" he asked, in a deceptively mild tone.

"Oh Peter, let them in, it's fine, it's not a problem." A voice came from inside the house. The door swung wide again, revealing a positively ancient old man standing there…beside Zacary Stein. Matt and Phil registered the boy's presence with shock, and exchanged worried glances. Zacary gave them one startled look, then dropped his gaze downward.

"I am Ernst Steiner, and this is my son Peter, and my grandson, Zacary," the old man said courteously. "How may we assist you, officers?"

The boys followed the police officers into the house, gazing about curiously at the multitude of antiques and beautiful furnishings. The little group moved down the wide hallway, and entered what appeared to be a music room…and Phil stopped cold. _Alli's violin!_ He was sure it was Allison's Stradivarius, displayed in a huge glass case, along with several other fine instruments. He tugged at Martinez' sleeve. "That's the violin!" he said. "I'm sure of it!"

Overhearing the remark, the old man laughed genially. "You must be mistaken, young man. That violin has been in my family for many, many years. Of course, one violin tends to look very much like another – the mistake is quite understandable."

Phil glared at him. "That's not true," he said. "It belongs to Allison Lewis. There's a plaque on the back of it, with her great-grandfather's name on it – Frederick Mueller. It's just a little one, but it's made of pure gold. All you have to do is look at it, and you'll be able to tell," he went on, with an entreating look at Officers Kinsey and Martinez. Inwardly, he hoped that the little plaque was still in place; there had been plenty of time to remove it, if they'd thought of it.

"We'll check it out," Martinez reassured him, "after we finish searching the rest of the house for your friend."

"Dude…" Matt had been looking about sharply, and now he moved to pick up a small object which was lying near the glass case. "Isn't this Frank's camera?"

Phil looked at it. "It sure is—"

"That's my camera," the man who had been addressed as Peter interrupted. "I must have dropped it there earlier."

The officers suddenly stopped looking polite and started looking suspicious. Kinsey narrowed her eyes and started to snap "All right, assume..." – but Peter whirled about and dashed out of the room and down the hallway.

For a moment, both officers seemed to freeze in place, then Martinez pulled out his gun and trained it on Zac and his grandfather. "Just stay right there," he commanded. Kinsey, meanwhile, was making a call to headquarters on her belt radio, requesting backup. After being assured another car was en route, she patted the old man and Zacary down, frisking them for weapons, but they came up clean.

Phil and Matt, during all this, had been edging unobtrusively towards the door. They were both afraid of what Peter might be doing to Frank right then. They made it into the hallway and started in the direction the fleeing man had gone, but before long they were joined by Officer Martinez. The three hurried along, and found themselves at the top of a staircase descending into the basement.

"Listen!" Matt stopped, holding up his hand. Somewhere below them could be heard movement – footsteps, and crashing noises…and some colorful cursing.

Suddenly a figure appeared at the bottom of the stairs, and all three pursuers froze – for Peter Steiner was standing there, holding a gagged Frank Hardy in front of him like a human shield, with a gun pressed firmly against his head!

"Back off, right now!" Steiner barked. "Back off, or the boy gets it!"

Martinez raised his hands slowly. "Just relax, okay? You're just going to make things worse for yourself. You don't really want to hurt that kid, do you?"

"I'll kill him if you don't let me – us – go, right now," the man spat. "I'm the one in charge, not you!" He shoved Frank roughly up the stairs. Frank, his hands still bound behind him, took one step, then another…

…and swung about, kicking out sharply. He caught Peter Steiner in the knee, and the man fell heavily. Frank, unbalanced, toppled forward, up the stairs – just as the gun went off, and a loud **BANG!** resounded through the house.


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to all who have left such kind commentary. You are much appreciated.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreanweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 25

 _Oh my God!_ Phil was nearly paralyzed with fear as to what he was going to see when he reached the bottom of the stairs, but he forced himself into action. _What if he shot Frank? I'll never forgive myself for getting the guys into this, if he did!_

He plunged down the staircase, heedless of the danger from Peter Steiner, still sprawled on the steps; disregarding Officer Martinez' shouts of " _Wait!_ _WAIT!"_ and barely hearing Martinez' and Matt's thundering footsteps behind him. Frank had tumbled helplessly back down to the bottom of the stairs, and was lying entirely too still. Phil dropped to his knees beside his friend and gingerly rolled him onto his back…just as Frank started struggling to rise.

"Oh, man, are you all right?" Phil's voice trembled. He saw no bloodstains – Frank seemed to be relatively uninjured; but there were black smudges on his face, perilously close to his eyes – smudges that were, in all likelihood, powder marks. That shot had been just a little too close for comfort!

"Mmmph…mmp brmph…MMMPPHH!" Frank mumbled, from behind the gag, and jerked his chin up imperatively.

Phil pulled the gag down, carefully. "What? I couldn't understand you. Say it again?"

Frank burst out laughing. "You idiot, I asked you to take the gag out!"

Phil's answering grin was vivid with relief. He hugged Frank tightly for a moment, then made an attempt to undo the cords holding his hands together. After a moment, he decided that untying them would take a lot more time and patience than he possessed; he'd try to find a knife!

In the meantime, Officer Martinez had secured Peter Steiner's gun, and with Matt's enthusiastic help, Peter Steiner as well. The man was firmly handcuffed, but still struggled to free himself, kicking and snarling threats, even as more police officers, freshly arrived, came pouring down the stairs and converged on them. He was hauled upright and propelled up the stairs, still fighting and hurling verbal abuse all the way.

Martinez, Matt, Phil and Frank slowly climbed the staircase, and returned to the music room, where Kinsey waited alone.

"They're all in custody," she remarked, inclining her head towards the door. "And I've checked the violin. The plaque's there. You were right, Mr. Cohen. You were right." Seeing Frank's predicament, she produced a knife and cut the cord around his wrists.

He chafed them vigorously, trying to get a little blood flowing through them again, and winced at the resultant discomfort. And then he turned to Phil and Matt.

"Thanks, guys," he said quietly. "I owe you two a whole lot. It got pretty scary there, for awhile!"

#####

Frank rolled over in bed, early the next afternoon, and squinted at the sunlight coming through the shades on his bedroom windows. _Am I ever going to get my days and nights straightened out again?_ he wondered. He had been up nearly all night again, giving a lengthy and involved statement to the police about what had happened over the past several days. Everything he knew about the stolen violin, what had happened to his brother, what had happened to Phil and Allison, what had happened to him, as well! Both Phil and Matt had had to do it too, and Frank had been astounded to hear their report of the visit Robert had paid to them. _Well, at least that explains the knife, and the picture – and the brick!_

He had been glad to get out of there – at nearly 4 a.m. – and had driven wearily home, after making sure the other two boys were headed back to their apartment. Matt and Phil promised to come to Bayport, after they got off work, although Frank couldn't see how either one of them would be in any shape to do anything except collapse into bed! Phil seemed to be practically sleepwalking as it was, and Frank wondered just how effective his friend would be at Computer Wizardry that day. He, himself, hadn't been able to do much more than scribble a note to his parents saying **'Found violin, thieves apprehended, going to bed, how's Joe?'** and stagger upstairs.

Frank blinked tiredly. He could sleep more, he knew, but he was awake now, and he wanted to get to the hospital and see Joe. _Maybe Megan would be willing to go with me…._ Slowly, he pulled himself out of bed and headed to the shower.

###

Megan and Frank walked down the hospital corridor and turned towards the Critical Care unit where Joe's room was. At the nurse's station, one of the women on duty glanced up and noted them and their destination. She smiled and nodded in a friendly fashion. After the attack on Joe foiled by Megan and Vanessa, both girls were being held in high esteem by the hospital staff!

They entered the room, empty at the moment save for its lone occupant. Frank went immediately to stand beside the bed, but Megan halted beside the door, taking in the scene with wide, somber eyes. Joe still lay insensible beneath the blankets, wires and tubes seeming to writhe in all directions from his body. Monitors emitted monotonous beeps and hums. A bandage still encircled his forehead, and although they were starting to heal, scrapes and bruises still marked his face, showing up in brutal relief against the pale skin. Of exuberant, mischievous Joe Hardy, there was no sign. Only this silent ghost of his former self remained.

"Hey, little brother…" Frank reached to clasp Joe's hand gently. "Time to wake up. I've got a lot of news for you! Believe me, you want to hear this! You're going to be really pleased…."

Joe slept on, unresponsive.

"Kid, you'd better wake up. Graduation's almost here, and you're missing all the rehearsals. I'll bet Mrs. Martell's having a fit!"

Joe did not answer.

Frank swallowed hard and sat down in the chair beside the bed, releasing Joe's hand with reluctance. Megan moved to take the other seat. For perhaps fifteen minutes they sat there, talking quietly to each other and occasionally addressing remarks to the somnolent Joe.

"I can't believe it!" Frank said for perhaps the fifth time. He had been astounded, aghast, and then totally admiring, upon hearing of Megan's and Vanessa's stalwart defense of Joe. "You girls are really something else!" He smiled at his girlfriend proudly. "I'm proud of you…we both are proud of you – aren't we, Joe?" He glanced over at the bed, and bit his lip. "That guy was Julian Steiner, wasn't it? Ernst's other son?"

"Yes, I think so," she said…and went silent again.

Despite Frank's congratulations and warm smiles, Megan knew he wasn't happy. He wouldn't be happy until Joe was okay, and that hope was receding further and further away as each day passed. _And what if Joe never wakes up? Will Frank ever be…Frank…again? He looks so shattered_ …. _this is breaking his heart….He's so distant now….almost like a stranger, he's so far away from me. He hasn't called me 'Baby' since they found Joe_ ….

She thought about that a little more. Ordinarily, having a guy call her 'Baby' would have raised her feminist hackles a bit, but when Frank did it, it was different. He didn't call people pet names, most of the time. Yes, being the girl _Frank_ _Hardy_ called 'Baby' wasn't to be scorned; it was definitely a plus! Joe, on the other hand…. _Joe flings endearments and nicknames around like rose petals – although I've noticed that he's toned it down a little since he gave Vanessa that ring….Hmmm – nicknames…._ Megan chewed her lips reflectively, thinking hard.

Finally, the elder Hardy got to his feet. "Let's go for a walk or something," he suggested. "I – can't sit here any longer right now. I'll come back after a while and stay with him."

Megan hesitated. "You go on ahead," she said finally. "I want to talk to Joe about something – alone."

Frank stared at her. "You want to talk to Joe…" he repeated, looking from his girlfriend to his unconscious brother. Finally he shrugged, and that bitter, defeated gesture told Megan just how depressed Frank had become. "Sure, go ahead. It's not going to make much difference anyway…is it?" He turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Megan moved to the other chair, the one closest to Joe's side. She leaned over the bed, taking his cool, limp fingers in her own warm ones. With the back of her free hand, she lightly stroked his cheek, feeling the soft, downy stubble on Joe's face. _His beard's growing out; he hasn't been able to shave since…Sunday? Maybe Saturday?_ For some obscure reason, the slightly prickly sensation against her fingers made her want to cry.

"Joe," she whispered, "you need to wake up now. It's time for you to wake up – you don't want to miss your high school graduation, do you?" She swallowed the lump trying to form in her throat. Why was it that graduation ceremonies seemed to be so connected with horrible experiences, for her? "You need to wake up," she repeated. "Frank needs you. He's solved the case of the missing violin, and he wants to tell you about it! We all need you. I miss you – and Vanessa needs you so much. She's frightened for you, Joe. This is killing her. Come on, now. You can do it. Come back to us, please?"

No response. She hadn't expected any; still, Megan felt tears of disappointment starting to form in the corners of her eyes, and her throat tightened, preventing speech for a moment.

"Joe…" she continued, at last. "I'll make a bargain with you. You wake up – soon. Today. Tonight. I'll even stretch a point and say tomorrow. And I promise you, if you do that, you can call me 'Red' whenever you want…. For the rest of your life, if you want…. And I won't say a thing. Ever. Only you, though; no one else – but I promise."

She watched the still, pale face, hoping for some flicker of awareness, some evidence that Joe had heard her words. But he lay quiescent, the slow up-and-down movement of his chest his only sign of life. The monotonous beeping of the monitors was the only sound in the room.

Deliberately, Megan leaned over the bed and gently kissed Joe's cheek, again noting the roughness of his incipient beard against her lips. "I've made you a promise, now see that you keep your half of the bargain," she whispered. "See you later, Joe." Releasing his hand, she left the room without looking back.


	26. Chapter 26

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to those readers who have left nice comments on this story, which is nearing the end. You have been very kind.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 26

Frank sat quietly beside his brother's bed. Megan had gone home, with promises to return early the next morning, unless, as she'd said, Joe suddenly woke up and decided to check himself out of the hospital! Phil and Matt had been there and departed, after only a short visit. Phil was so tired he could barely keep his eyes open, and although Matt still seemed to be going on all cylinders, he had admitted that he was tired too. They had both decided to stay in Bayport and spend the night with Phil's parents. It definitely wasn't safe for them to drive back that night, and neither needed to be in New York City early the next morning.

Frank was dozing himself, sprawled in the chair with his head resting against the back. He still hadn't caught up on his sleep, but he was relaxed, thinking about the case, and how happy he was that they had managed to solve it _. But I won't really enjoy it until Joe wakes up and can share in the news. And he'll wake up…he just_ _has_ _to!_ The doze deepened, and Frank slept, only to be awakened later by a gentle hand on his shoulder. Frank roused reluctantly, blinking at the intrusion.

"Frank – honey." It was his mother. "Honey, you're going home to get a real night's sleep for a change. And so am I."

"No, no – I don't need to," Frank protested automatically, even though the thought of a full night's sleep in his own bed was nearly irresistible. "I'm fine, Mom – really."

"No arguments," Laura told him sternly. It was rare that she had to use that tone of voice with Frank, who was ordinarily amenable to everyone's wishes. "Come on, now. Joe will be fine for a little while by himself, and Dad's coming in a little later to sit with him."

"All right," Frank acceded reluctantly. He got to his feet and patted Joe through the covers in farewell. "See you later, bro."

###

At home, while Laura went upstairs to take a bath and go to bed herself, Frank sat in the kitchen for a while, chatting with his Aunt Gertrude, who had limited her time at the hospital with Joe to keep things running smoothly at home. He hadn't seen her that afternoon, or the night – rather, morning – before.

Gertrude listened with rapt interest while Frank related the story of the stolen instruments, and what had gone on at the mansion. She shook her head sadly when he repeated Ernst Steiner's tale of the musicians and their triumphs throughout Europe…and then she became very thoughtful, when Frank finished, and an odd look crossed her face.

"What's wrong, Aunt Gertrude?" Frank asked, suddenly worried that she might not be feeling well. "Are you all right?"

"Nothing, nothing," she said, "I'm fine." But the odd look still remained. "It's just that story you told, Frank – it seems to me that somewhere I've heard…it reminds me of something. I either read about it, or someone told me about it, a long time ago." Thoughtfully, she set about preparing Frank a late dinner. Somewhere along the line, Frank realized belatedly, he had missed both dinner _and_ lunch! While she worked, they talked about other subjects; Frank entertaining his aunt with a wicked description of Matt Eckersley, and also telling her about the obsessed Robert DuChais and his pursuit of Allison Lewis.

Gertrude was setting the table when she reverted to the former subject. "I remember now!" she announced abruptly. "It was a music teacher I had when I was in school! A Mr. – Ryker? Rich? No…something like that. Raich, that's it. He told us about the Vienna Symphony—"

Eagerly, Frank pressed her for details. "Do you remember anything else about it, Aunt Gertrude? Anything at all?"

"Let me keep thinking for a few minutes," she said, sounding a trifle puzzled. "It's there in the back of my mind, but I need to get a handle on it." She made herself a cup of tea, and sat down at the kitchen table, beside her nephew. "It's such an old story, I haven't thought about it in years and years." She stirred her tea absently, staring into the cup as if to glean the details from the amber liquid.

"Yes…yes," she murmured, at last. "Here's what I remember. The teacher told us that he'd once played the harp with the Vienna Symphony Orchestra, and that he had been in a competition, he and four other men – and that they had won exquisite instruments as prizes." She sighed. "But it was a sad story at the end, really. He mentioned that they had played for many years, as long as they could – but they had to break up in the early 1930s, because of the depression."

"Anything else?" Frank prodded.

She looked at him and chuckled. "I'm doing the best I can, Frank!"

"Sorry, Auntie," he grinned. "But I want to know!"

"One more thing," she said, smiling. "He mentioned the Steiner Viola. I don't remember what he said, but I do recall him saying something about it!"

Frank was suddenly excited. "Aunt Gertrude, could I eat dinner in my room? I want to look up something on my computer!" Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope in solving this last little mystery, after all!

"All right, Frank," she surprised him by saying, and set about fixing him a tray to take upstairs. "Do let me know if you find anything out!" Gertrude, too, was intrigued!

Once in his room, Frank set the tray on his bedside table, but instead of eating, went immediately to his computer and turned it on – drawn irresistibly by the lure of a mystery that was nearly 70 years old. It could be totally impossible to solve, since everyone involved had died, but….

Going to his favorite search engine, Frank typed in the information he was seeking. The results were disheartening: he found himself wading through endless and endless and endless notes about violas and disasters and musical quintets. _I'm not getting_ _anywhere_ _!_ he fumed, and then thought again about his Aunt Gertrude's story.

He started another search – for a person, this time, not a quintet or a viola. And then he fired off a rapid – and very lengthy – e-mail message. Suddenly exhausted, he turned off the computer, ate his now-cold dinner, and fell into bed.

###

When Frank awoke the next morning, the first thing he did was boot up the computer and check his e-mail. He didn't expect to have an answer to his note of the night before, but to his astonishment, there was a reply – a rather long reply. He read through it, his eyes first growing wide, and then sparkling, as he read the answer to his mystery. He printed the message off, and hurried downstairs.

Gertrude Hardy was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

"Aunt Gertrude! I found it!" Frank waved the paper exultantly. "Look!"

She read the letter, and chuckled. "Amazing! Just amazing!"

Frank poured himself a hasty glass of orange juice and popped a piece of bread into the toaster. "Is Mom around?"

"She went back to the hospital already," Gertrude told him, turning more sober again as she thought of Joe. "She said to let you sleep; she'd just take her own car there. Your father came home very late, I think. He's still asleep. I'm going to let him sleep as long as he can, too."

Frank buttered his toast, picked up the e-mail message, and headed for the door, feeling more alive than he had in days. "I'm going to the hospital now, Auntie – bye!" he said, and in a matter of seconds was backing down the driveway!

Laura was sitting beside Joe's bed, where she had been so long and often over the past few days. She greeted Frank with a warm smile.

"Hi, honey. Did you finally get caught up on your sleep?"

"I did," Frank nodded. "I also solved – well, found out the answer to, anyway – a 70-year-old mystery!" he added triumphantly.

"What? Good for you – but how?" Laura laughed, waiting for details.

"Here, read this!" Frank thrust the e-mail letter at her excitedly. She took it from his hand, still smiling.

"All right. I'll take it out into the waiting area to read. Give you a chance to talk to Joe."

Laura left the room, and Frank settled into the chair beside the bed. He gazed at Joe, and thought that his color looked better – much better. Instead of looking unconscious, this morning Joe looked…asleep!

Frank was staring abstractedly at the EKG machine, watching the slow, even blips of Joe's heart rate on it, when he suddenly became aware of a new sound in the room – movement, and the soft slither of the bedcovers being shifted. He looked at the bed in surprise – and then caught his breath with a gasp. Joe's eyes were open – and he was staring at Frank in evident bafflement!

"Frank?" Joe's voice was little more than a whisper, weak and rusty from disuse, but Frank thought he'd never heard a more welcome sound than that single syllable. "What…happened?"

"JOE! Oh my God!" Frank sprang to the door and popped his head out, gesturing wildly at the first nurse he saw. "Come here, please, quick – Joe's awake!" He turned and darted back to Joe's side. "You're awake…you're awake!" he chanted, gripping Joe's hand tightly in his own.

Joe blinked uncertainly at him, looking extremely bewildered. "Shouldn't I be?" he whispered, but before Frank could answer, two nurses and two doctors entered the room and shooed him away. Disgruntled but realizing that it was necessary, Frank hurried to the waiting area.

"Mom!" he cried, and Laura looked up, her blue eyes opening wide in apprehension, fearing the worst.

"What is it?" she gasped, leaping to her feet.

"He's AWAKE!" Frank caroled, and threw his arms about his mother in a huge hug. "Joe's awake!"

"Oh! Oh, thank God." Laura's eyes filled with tears of happiness, but her vast relief shone through. Frank hugged her again, holding her tightly.

"Everything's okay now, Mom – everything – everyone – is all right!"

Only a few moments later, Vanessa and Megan walked in, amid the Hardys' joy, and were drawn into the group hug. Vanessa was ecstatic, not sure whether to laugh or cry, and attempting to do both at once. When they broke apart, Frank kept his arm tightly around Megan, suddenly realizing just how long it had been since he had held her like that.

"Baby – oh baby, I've missed this," he murmured, against her hair, and embraced her again.

Laura wiped her eyes. "We're acting like a bunch of idiots," she chuckled, and patted Vanessa fondly. "Let's just settle down and wait to see what the doctors have to say."

They sat down, and waited, impatiently. At long last, the medical personnel exited Joe's room, and one of the doctors came to the waiting area to speak to them.

"Well, physically he's doing quite well," he said cheerily. "There seem to be some gaps in his memory, but that's to be expected!"

"Can we see him now?" Frank demanded impatiently.

"Certainly. Go right ahead." The doctor waved a dismissive hand. "Just try not to tire him out." He turned to go, then stopped and added with a broad grin: "His main complaint was that he was hungry!"

They crowded into Joe's room, bristling with excitement, and were greeted by a very puzzled-looking Joe, who nevertheless attempted to smile at everyone. The monitors and machines had been unhooked and removed, and the head of the bed was raised slightly. Laura and Megan each hugged him tightly; Vanessa kissed him, and then sank into the nearest chair, clutching his hand in both of hers.

Frank leaned against the bed. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Confused," Joe replied, wrinkling his forehead. "Ow!" he said, reaching to feel the bandage. "What HAPPENED to me, anyway? The doctors said I hit my head, but I don't remember doing it."

"What do you remember?" Frank countered. "I mean – what's the last thing you recall?"

Joe thought about it for a while. "Going out to dinner with Vanessa," he said finally.

"Nothing after that?" Vanessa gasped, and he shook his head.

"No."

"Well…" Frank took a deep breath. "Prepare yourself, bro, you have a lot to catch up on!"

###

Over the next hour, while Joe lazily consumed jello and soup and crackers, Frank carefully recounted everything that had happened; the whole story behind how Joe had ended up in the hospital; what had happened to Allison's violin; Robert; everything. Joe was clearly dumbfounded.

"I just can't remember anything about any of that!" he exclaimed, when Frank finally paused for breath. "Not going to the estate, or mansion, or whatever…and for all I knew, Allison's violin was still missing, and so was PHIL!"

Frank chuckled. "Well, he's not missing any longer. And it doesn't matter if you can't remember – just so long as you're awake again, and back with us!"

Joe frowned. "So it wasn't Allison's cousin Rodney, then?"

"No, although I have the dope on that, too," Frank grinned. "Allison found out and told Phil, and he told me, yesterday. It seems that the guy who snatched the violin from Allison outside the restaurant was one of Rodney's friends. But that was the only time Rodney was involved with this whole thing. Zacary took the violin after the concert; just casually picked it up and wandered off with it, in the confusion of everyone milling around and putting their instruments away. He went to the back door and passed it off to his Uncle Julian. Somehow, the door didn't latch afterwards, and Robert came in that way a little later, hoping to waylay Allison and try to talk her into taking up with him again."

"Why did Rodney want it so badly?" Vanessa inquired, disregarding Robert's woes. "I mean, he wanted to sell it; he wanted the money, but…why?"

"Apparently, Rodney owns a bar," Frank explained. "Financed by his parents, naturally. Well, he's sort of made a mess of things with it, and lost a ton of money. Not the best businessman, Rodney! He didn't want to admit to his father what a hash he'd made of this business venture, so he was trying to get the violin and pay off the debts. Phil said Allison thought he was going to be leaving the area – maybe going over to Europe for awhile. Don't ask me what he'll do over there, but at least he'll be out of her hair! And Robert's either going to be incarcerated here, or sent back to France."

Laura had excused herself briefly to call home and relay the joyous news to Fenton and Gertrude, and now she returned.

"Your Aunt Gertrude is nearly incoherent with happiness," she reported, her eyes twinkling. "And Dad said 'Hallelujah! Tell him I'll be there after I finish sleeping a little longer!'"

They all laughed.

"But honey," Laura continued, "you do need to rest, so we should probably cut this short."

"Why do I need to rest? I've been sleeping for days, apparently," Joe protested.

"Well, until the doctor says you can be released, you better just keep on resting," his mother said firmly.

"Just one more thing," Frank said. "I," he continued, impressively, "now have the answer to the final mystery, too."

"What? What final mystery? What did you find?" came a chorus of voices, as Joe, Megan and Vanessa demanded to know what he was talking about.

"Listen to this!" Frank grinned, and took out the printed e-mail message once more.

Dear Frank,

The story is one that my grandfather told me, as well. He spoke often of the 'old days' of his youth, of his days playing the harp, and of his great sorrow at having to sell it.

He told me also the story of the broken viola and of Herr Steiner's insistence that one of them was responsible for what happened. What really happened, though, was this: Herr Steiner left his viola sitting out – right in the middle of the stage! – and a fat man who was helping to clear the stage after our performance tripped and fell on it, and broke it into many different pieces.

It is really too bad what has happened. But Herr Steiner did tell the truth about the harp. Perhaps I shall see if I can buy it back.

I appreciate your contacting me, very much.

Sincerely,

Martin Raich

As the story sank in, all the occupants of the room began to laugh.


	27. Chapter 27

Disclaimer: I do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, and am making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s).

Note: This story was written around the year 2005, so technology is not as advanced as it is today. People still used landlines, and texting, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram and Snapchat were still in the future or in their infancy. Also the story was co-written with someone from the Hardy Detective Agency, pen name Aspen, now known on this site as RokiaHDA.

Thank you to SparksJSH for allowing EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA to use Devon Marshand in this story, and for providing us with her middle name when we asked! Jenn, it took long enough, but at long last Devon can stop pressing that graduation gown!

Thank you to everyone who commented on the story. You have been very, very kind.

 **Fanfare for June**

By EvergreenDreamweaver and RokiaHDA

Chapter 27

Graduation Day, Bayport High School.

Frank Hardy stood in the crowded hallway, grinning at his brother with deep satisfaction. Joe was still pale from his injury, the drugging, and being in the hospital until the day before, but no one had ever looked happier in a graduation cap and gown! A small bandage peeked from beneath the edge of his dark green mortar board, and he looked a little shaky, but a radiant smile suffused his face – because his eyes were fastened on Vanessa, standing nearby in her gold gown with her cap tilted saucily over one eye, who smiled just as radiantly back at him.

"I've got to go now," Frank said, and leaned to hug Joe tightly. "You made it, bro. This is the day you waited for forever!"

Joe smiled. "Yeah, it is. Hard to believe, huh?"

"Hard to believe," Frank concurred, and left quickly, before he was betrayed into saying something sentimental.

###

Megan settled herself in her chair next to Frank. She knew they could count themselves lucky, actually getting to sit in _chairs_ – the majority of the spectators were seated on the gymnasium bleachers! But for the families of the graduates, attempts had been made to provide slightly more comfortable seating, and Vanessa had only needed one of her tickets. Megan and Frank had benefited from that lucky circumstance.

She looked around, still marveling at the hordes of people who attended Bayport High School's graduation. Little Lakeridge Academy had only graduated about 70 people in a class, and few people went to the ceremony unless they were closely related to a graduate. But here – it seemed as if the whole population of Bayport had decided to attend! And cramming themselves into the high school gymnasium was the task at hand.

Megan saw Tony Prito and his parents take places on the lower bleacher seats towards the back of the gym, and then spotted Phil, who waved vigorously when she caught his eye. He was accompanied by a thin young man with long hair and an engaging grin; Megan surmised this must be Phil's roommate, Matt. They moved to join the Pritos, who scooted over to make room for them. Across the cavernous room, on the other side, she saw Jack Wayne, his sister April, and her boyfriend Todd Mitchell ascending the steps to seats near the ceiling. _They are going to_ _die_ _of heat up there!_ she thought.

"Well, look who's here!" Frank leaned to murmur discreetly in her ear. Megan looked where he indicated, and smiled when she saw Callie Shaw and her parents climbing the stairs to a bleacher seat in the upper section. She heard Frank make a sound halfway between a laugh and a disdainful sniff.

"Be nice," she whispered. "Callie's got quite a few friends in this class, remember? Besides, I thought you two were friends again."

"Well…we are," Frank admitted. "And you're right about her wanting to be here."

Seated on the other side of Frank, Laura and Fenton were both beaming with unalloyed pride and unabashed relief that Joe had recovered enough to graduate with his class. They were nodding to acquaintances and accepting congratulations and good wishes for their younger son, as well as extending them to the other parents. Beyond them, Aunt Gertrude sat placidly, smiling with self-congratulation, and was heard to say more than once that it 'never would have happened without me around to discipline that young whippersnapper!'

The empty seat on Megan's other side was suddenly filled as Andrea Bender slid into the chair. She looked flushed and slightly ruffled – an unusual look for the ordinarily-composed Andrea.

"Parking!" she muttered. "Bloody parking! I had to walk four blocks!" She leaned to greet Laura and Fenton, then settled back, still grumbling under her breath.

"But you're here in plenty of time!" Megan consoled her. "There's still almost ten minutes until it's supposed to start."

By the end of those ten minutes, every available seat in the vast gymnasium was occupied, except those reserved for the faculty and the graduates. Mr. Frame, the band director, raised his baton to signal to his students, and then the familiar strains of Elgar's _"Pomp and Circumstance"_ filled the room, played by the school orchestra – and two special guests in the strings section! Angel Coussard and Allison Lewis had come to play, just for graduation. Allison had explained that this was her way of thanking the Hardys for finding her violin and, even though she might not have it back for a few weeks – until it wasn't needed for evidence anymore – she WOULD get it back, thanks to them. And Angel had come because he was Allison' friend and they liked playing together. As the music poured over them, Megan instinctively extended her hand towards Frank, and he grasped it in his own.

Slowly, walking in twos, the graduating class entered the gym. Some of them were smiling broadly, waving to friends and relatives; others were solemn and keeping their minds focused on the task at hand, which was walking in time to the music and getting to the proper row of chairs. On and on they came, in what seemed to be an unending wave of green and gold robes and mortar boards. Gold honor cords hung about the necks of some, and each graduate wore a bronze medallion suspended from a coppery-colored ribbon.

It was difficult to distinguish one from another, in that sea of color, but Megan managed to spot Chet and Devon, Biff and Karen. She clung to Frank's hand and thanked God that Joe was there with the others, intact.

She smiled to herself, thinking of a conversation held with Joe the previous day, when he had been released from the hospital. Frank, much to his frustration, had had to work at Wayne's World, so hadn't been around. Once Joe was settled comfortably, Fenton had left to do some work of his own, Gertrude went upstairs, and Laura and Vanessa had gone to the kitchen to fetch lemonade and snacks, leaving Megan to 'baby-sit,' as Joe had termed it.

For a short while they had sat in the family room in contented silence; Joe reveling in the enjoyment of being home. But there was something Megan wanted to say to him, and now was the perfect time.

"Joe – remember when you called me 'Red' at the restaurant and I got so mad at you?"

He looked over at her with a sunny smile. "Oh yeah, that I do remember! You darn near bit my head off!"

"Well…while you were asleep…at the hospital…" She stopped, not quite certain how to explain this. "Before you woke up," she began again, "I was talking to you. I made a bargain with you – I promised you something."

He nodded uncertainly, not sure where this might be going. "Okay…. A…bargain?"

"I told you that – if you'd wake up and be all right—" She stopped again. It seemed so ludicrous now, but she'd _promised_. It wouldn't be fair not to go through with it. "I told you – that you can call me 'Red' if you want to. No one else can, but if you do – it's…okay." She shook her head, and looked down at her lap, laughing a little. "I guess it sounds silly, doesn't it?"

"Silly?" Joe voice was extraordinarily gentle. "I think it's incredible. No one but you would think of offering me an incentive like that. I wish I'd been awake to hear it. You wouldn't have had to tell me now, you know – since I didn't hear it…."

She looked up, into his smiling blue eyes. "A bargain is a bargain," she whispered. "You kept your part; I have to keep mine."

"Will it be so bad?" he asked gently. "Because if it is, Megan, no deal."

She thought about that for a moment. "No. It won't. Because I know you wouldn't say it just because you want to hurt me. From you, it's…affection."

Joe smiled at her, and winked. "You got that right…Red."

###

After the graduates came the faculty, all in black robes with their colored velvet stoles indicating their degree category. Megan smiled, impressed; the faculty looked so _elegant_! As the final strains of the music died away, the principal, Mr. Alexander, rose from his chair and stepped to the microphone.

"Good evening, parents, friends, and most importantly, graduates…."

#####

Joe held tightly to Vanessa's hand as they sat and listened to the speeches. Although he felt sorry that he had lost some memories – and the doctors didn't seem to know when or if he might ever regain them – he decided it didn't really matter anymore. He remembered the last time he saw Vanessa before he woke up in the hospital after all, at their special dinner, and that was what was most important.

He could feel the ring she wore on her finger, and he could see the chain of her locket under the thin fabric of her graduation robe. _She's so beautiful_ , he thought. _And she's erased the pain I've felt ever since Iola's death._ Discreetly, he ducked his head and raised her hand to his lips, and felt her shake with silent laughter. He still felt weak from being in the hospital, and his head ached occasionally, but he wouldn't have missed being there – not for anything!

#####

The speeches were done. Music had been performed – a special, wonderful rendition of the duet Angel and Allison had played at their concert, which brought tears to many eyes. Memories had been invoked by the student speakers, and a few more tears shed. And now, at long last, it was time for the diplomas to be presented.

 _At Lakeridge_ , Megan mentally compared again, _we lined up alphabetically, and you walked with whomever you ended up next to._ Here at Bayport, however, people chose who they wished for a marching partner, and the diplomas were arranged in that order. That was why each person graduating was so careful to be in his or her designated seat, and why so many rehearsals were required. No one wanted to be the one remembered for being out of order and spoiling the careful precision of the presentation. The first two rows of the class stood, and began to edge into the side aisles.

The principal and vice-principal stood on the stage, next to a table covered with stacks of the square, leather-covered diplomas. As Mrs. Parks announced a name, that person crossed the stage, received a diploma to the applause of the crowd, and then shook hands with a beaming Mr. Alexander as the photographer snapped a flash photo. Descending the steps on the other side, the newly graduated senior nonchalantly moved his or her mortarboard tassel to the opposite side, and returned to the proper seat.

Megan freed her hand from Frank's. She wanted to be able to applaud!

###

"Chester Caldwell Morton." There was Chet, beaming all over his freckled face as he accepted congratulations from Mrs. Parks. Loud applause and congratulatory whoops from his classmates resounded.

"Devon Kathleen Marshand." Devon was blushing, but she looked very happy, and awed when she heard all the applause which greeted her name. No more the 'Ice Princess,' little blonde Devon was well liked now. Happily, she flipped her tassel and waved to the other graduates as she resumed her seat.

"Elizabeth Blair Webling." Liz looked cool and composed as she sauntered across the stage and accepted her diploma with a smile. It was difficult to fluster Liz.

"Donald Wentworth West." Liz's boyfriend Don grinned and waved his diploma triumphantly over his head as he descended the steps.

"Allen Ray Hooper." Biff's long strides took him across the stage in record time, and the congratulatory yells for the school's most notable athlete were loud and emphatic. Biff grinned all over his handsome face, and raised both arms in a gesture of victory.

"Karen Elaine Kerr." Karen, laughing, whipped a tiny bottle of bubble-liquid out, and blew bubbles all the way back to her seat.

More and more graduates proceeded across the stage to the warm applause of the spectators. The big gymnasium became noisier and noisier as more and more triumphant graduates regained their seats, clutching their diplomas and waiting for the last class members to march forward.

#####

They weren't in the middle of the pack, where they had been at rehearsals. They had been moved to the end, just in case…just in case. Just in case the unthinkable happened.

The tall blonde couple, nearly matched in height, walked arm-in-arm until they reached the steps. Then, with a swift kiss for her escort, the girl stepped forward first.

"Vanessa Marie Bender." Andrea, tears running down her face, applauded vigorously as Vanessa accepted her diploma. Laura and Fenton, Megan and Frank, clapped no less heartily for Vanessa…and then they waited, holding their collective breaths.

"Joseph David Hardy." Joe, still looking slightly wobbly, crossed the stage to thunderous applause, and one after another, observers rose to their feet to cheer for the youth who had come close to not graduating at all, until nearly everyone in the building was standing. As Mr. Alexander shook his hand, and flashbulbs flared, Joe broke into the widest smile Megan had ever seen on his face. Clapping until her hands stung, she finally stopped, and clutched Frank's arm.

"Oh, Frank, isn't it wonderful? It's so incredible, after everything that happened…It's so wonderful…I'm so glad—" The girl's words tumbled over each other in her excitement.

Frank hugged her tightly. "Baby, it's more than wonderful; it's more like a miracle," he whispered…and went back to applauding his little brother's achievements.

THE END


End file.
